former visit. At dinner, I narrowly observed both her and Arthur, and saw nothing extraordinary in the conduct of either—nothing calculated to excite suspicion, except in distrustful minds—which mine was not, and therefore I would not suspect.
Almost immediately after dinner, Annabella went out with her husband to share his moonlight ramble, for it was a splendid evening like the last. Mr. Hargrave entered the drawing-room a little before the others, and challenged me to a game of chess. He did it without any of that sad, but proud humility he usually assumes in addressing me, unless he is excited with wine. I looked at his face to see if that was the case now. His eye met mine keenly, but steadily: there was something about him I did not understand, but he seemed sober enough. Not choosing to engage with him, I referred him to Milicent.
"She plays badly," said he: "I want to match my skill with yours. Come now!—you
