quite by surprise. He had often seen her in public places, but she had never seen him since the last evening passed beside the little fountain; he seemed like the ghost of her youth, suddenly risen up to reproach her. Both stood silent, gazing on each other; Walter was actually lost in admiration of Lady Marchmont's transcendent beauty. The black velvet robe, with its strange embroidery, suited so well her superb figure, and threw into such strong relief the dead fairness of her neck and arms. Her face was without a vestige of colour, but it only showed more strongly the perfect outline of her features. Pale she was, but not like a statue; it was a human paleness—passionate and painful. Masses of her rich black hair fell over her shoulders, giving that wildness to the look which the dishevelled hair always does; but the glittering snake was yet wound round the head, and the ruby crest and diamond eye of the reptile had a strange likeness to life.
Lady Marchmont's eyes were unusually large; but to-night the face itself seemed half
