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She opened one eye that she might warn her husband that one of his first duties should be not to disturb his wife's slumbers. But the warning produced no effect. This being the case, Mistress Ulrica found it necessary to open the other eye, that by the aid of the night light she might discover Fabian's true condition. She first glanced towards the sofa; it was empty.

At this last gentle mark of thoughtfulness on Fabian's part the figure in the doorway loses all self-control. With a stifled cry he flings his arms above his head, and staggers away down the corridor outside to his own den. "What was that?" asks Sir Christopher, quickly; the smothered cry had reached his ears. "What? I heard nothing," says Fabian, looking up.

He would like to see the young ladies, each of whom are worth a ton of gold." At this proposal Mr. Fabian's brow darkened; but the gloom was soon dispelled as Gottlieb declined the pleasure of going, and the first smile which the young man had received from his uncle was when he replied: "Excuse me to-day, my dear aunt, I wish to write to my mother."

"I think Fabian has the most perfect face I ever saw," says Roger, suddenly. But Portia makes no reply. She is watching Fabian's figure as it disappears in the dusk. Dulce, however, turns quickly, and looks at Roger, a strange gleam in her great, blue eyes. "He is a fool who is not for love and beauty. I speak unto the young, for I am of them, and always shall be."

He retained the impression which he had formed from Fabian's recital of what he had heard, and did not think he was doing Sir John de Walton any injustice, in supposing him desirous to engross the greatest share of the fame acquired in the defence of the castle, and thrusting back his companions, who might reasonably pretend to a fair portion of it.

This he said on Fabian's information. The archer added, that the father was a man of tale and song, who could keep the whole garrison amused, without giving them leave to attend to their own business.

Moving abruptly away, he goes down the hall and out of the open door, and down the stone steps across the gleaming sunshine, and so is lost to sight. Dulce watches him until the portico outside hides him from view, and then, walking very slowly and with bent head, she goes in the direction of Fabian's room.

But it became known among a few in Pontiac that Nell was notorious. How it had crept up from Montreal no one guessed, and, when it did come, her name was very intimately associated with Fabian's. No one could say that she was not the most perfect of servants, and also no one could say that her life in Pontiac had not been exemplary.

"Come in," says Fabian's voice, clear, indifferent; and slowly turning the handle she enters the room. The lamps are alight; a fire is burning in the grate. At the upper table of this room, that is his study, his very sanctum sanctorum, Fabian is sitting with some papers and books before him.

"Nell Barraway you mean her? Bosh! I'm going to marry her, Henri." "You mustn't, Fabian," said Henri, eagerly clutching Fabian's sleeve. "But I must, my Henri. She's the best-looking, wittiest girl I ever saw splendid. Never lonely with her." "Looks and brains isn't everything, Fabian." "Isn't it, though? Isn't it? Tiens, you try it!" "Not without goodness." Henri's voice weakened. "That's bosh.

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