Her head was thrown back against the cushions, and her face shone deathly white from the rich sun-warmed darkness shed by the over-arching trees.

And kneeling beside her, holding both her helpless wrists, bending over her in a kind of passionate, triumphant possession, was Alice Manisty.
At the sound of the steps on the gravel she looked round; and at the sight of her brother, she slowly let fall the hands she held--she slowly rose to her feet.

Her tall emaciated form held itself defiantly erect; her eyes flashed hatred.
'Alice!'-- said Manisty, approaching her--'I have something important to say to you.

I have reconsidered our conversation of this morning, and I came to tell you so.

Come back with me to the library--and let us go into matters again.' He spoke with gentleness, controlling her with a kind look.