oup of story-tellers under the crâsset. His sombre handsome face wore an expression of extreme boredom. He had said, a few moments ago to Ellenor Cartier, the girl on the stairs, that he detested the veilles, but that he was bound to be present, as master of Orvillière Farm. He had added, moreover, a remark that had flooded Ellenor's heart with the joy that had caused her to creep away by herself into the darkness.
It was her presence, he assured her, with a stare into her trusting eyes, that drew him to Colomberie Farm to-night, otherwise he would have been out fishing beyond Pleinmont Point. Dominic had chuckled to himself many times during the past months when he reviewed his position towards Ellenor. Since the meeting in the Haunted House, he had seen her not a few times, and he had rivetted round her a chain which linked her closely to himself. He had exerted the masterful fascination which was his to bring her completely under his power. Love is a stronger motive th
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