82 WYLDER'S HJUVI).
"Yes," said Dorcas, opening the jewel-cases, which
she had taken from her cabinet, one after the other.
"And these pearls! how very magnificent! I had no
idea Mark Wylder's taste was so exquisite."
"Yes, very magnificent, I suppose."
"How charming — quite regal—you will look, Dor-
cas!"
Dorcas smiled strangely, and her bosom heaved a little,
Rachel thought. Was it elation, or was there not some-
thing wildiy bitter gleaming in that smile?
"I must look a little longer at these diamonds."
"As long, dear, as you please. You are not likely,
Rachel, to see them again."
From the blue flash of the brilliants Rachel in honest
amazement raised her eyes to her cousin's face. The same
pale smile was there; the look was oracular and painful.
Had she overheard a part of that unworthy talk of
Wylder's at the dinner-table, the day before, and mistaken
Rachel's share in the dialogue?
And Dorcas said —
"You have heard of the music on the waters that
lures mariners to destruction. The pilot leaves the
rudder, and leans over the prow, and listens. They steer
no more, but drive before the wind; and what care they
for wreck and drowning?"
I suppose it was the same smile; but in Rachel's eyes,
as pictures will, it changed its character with her own
change of thought, and now it seemed the pale rapt smile
of one who hears music far off, or sees a vision.
"Rachel, dear, I sometimes think there is an evil genius
attendant on our family," continued Dorcas, in the same
subdued tone, which, in its very sweetness, had so sinister
a sound in Rachel's ear. "From mother to child, from
child to grandchild, the same influence continues, and, one