For some days subsequent to Mrs. Carew's departure, Regina saw little of her guardian, whose manner was unusually preoccupied, and entirely devoid of the earnest interest and sympathy he had displayed at their last interview. Ascribing the change to regret at the absence of the guest whose presence had so enlivened the house, the girl avoided all unnecessary opportunities of meeting him, and devoted herself assiduously to her music and studies.

The marriage of a friend residing in Albany had called Olga thither, and in the confusion and hurried preparation incident to the journey she had found, or at least improved, no leisure to refer to the subject of the remarks made by Mrs. Carew and Mr. Chesley relative to Mr. Eggleston.

Mr. Congreve and Mrs. Palma had accompanied Olga to the railroad depot, and she departed in unusually high spirits.

Several days elapsed, during which Mr. Palma's abstraction increased, and by degrees Regina learned from his stepmother that a long pending suit involving several millions of dollars was drawing to a close.

As counsel for the plaintiff, he was summing up and preparing his final speech. An entire day was consumed in its delivery, and on the following afternoon as Regina sat at the library table writing her German exercise, she heard, his footsteps ascending with unwonted rapidity the hall stairs. Outside the door he paused, and accosted Mrs. Palma who hastened to meet him.

"Madam, I have won."

"Indeed, Erle, I congratulate you. I believe it involves a very large fee?"

"Yes, twenty thousand dollars; but the victory yields other fruit quite as valuable to me. Judges McLemore and Mayfield were on the defence, and it cost me a very hard fight: literally—' Palma non sine pulvere.' The jury deliberated only twenty minutes, and of course I am much gratified."

"I am heartily glad, but it really is no more than I expected; for when did you ever fail in anything of importance?"

"Most signally in one grave matter, which deeply concerns me. Despite my efforts, Olga's animosity grows daily more intense, and it annoys, wounds me; for you are aware that I have a very earnest interest in her welfare. I question very much the propriety of your course in urging this match upon her, and you know that from the beginning I have discouraged the whole scheme. She is vastly Congreve's superior, and I confess I do not relish the idea of seeing her sacrifice herself so completely. I attempted to tell her so, about a fortnight since, but she stormily forbade my mentioning Congreve's name in her presence, and looked so like an enraged leopardess that I desisted."

"It will prove for the best, I hope; and nothing less binding, less decisive than this marriage will cure her of her obstinate folly. Time will heal all, and some day, Erle, she will understand you, and appreciate what you have done."

"My dear madam, I merely mean that I desire she should regard me as a brother, anxious to promote her true interests; whereas she considers me her worst enemy. Just now we will adjourn the subject, as I must trouble you to pack my valise. I am obliged to start immediately to Washington, and cannot wait for dinner. Will you direct Octave to prepare a cup of coffee?"

"How long will you be absent?"

"I cannot say positively, as my business is of a character which may be transacted in three hours, or may detain me as many days. I must leave here in half an hour."

The door was open, and hearing what passed, Regina bent lower over her exercise book when her guardian came forward.

Although toil-worn and paler than usual, his eyes were of a proud glad light, that indexed gratification at his success.

Leaning against the table, he said carelessly:

"I am going to Washington, and will safely deliver any message you feel disposed to send to your admirer, Mr. Chesley."

She glanced inquiringly at him.

"I hope you reciprocate his regard, for he expressed great interest in your welfare."

"I liked him exceedingly; better than any gentleman I ever met, except dear Mr. Hargrove."

"A very comprehensive admission, and eminently flattering to poor
Elliott and 'Brother' Douglass."

"Mr. Chesley is a very noble-looking old man, and seemed to me worthy of admiration and confidence. He did not impress me as a stranger, but rather as a dear friend."

"Doubtless I shall find the chances all against me, when you are requested to decide between us."

A perplexed expression crossed the face she raised toward him.

"I am not as quick as Mrs. Carew in solving enigmas."

" A propos! what do you think of my charming fair client?"

Her heart quickened its pulsations, but the clear sweet voice was quiet and steady.

"I think her exceedingly beautiful and graceful."

"When I am as successful in her suit as in the great case I won to-day, I shall expect you to offer me very sincere congratulations."

He smiled pleasantly, as he looked at her pure face, which bad never seemed so surpassingly lovely as just then, with white hyacinths nestling in and perfuming her hair.

"I shall not be here then; but, Mr. Palma, wherever I am, I shall always congratulate you upon whatever conduces to your happiness."

"Then I may consider that you have already decided in favour of Mr.
Chesley?"

"Mr. Palma, I do not quite understand your jest"

"Pardon me, it threatens to become serious. Mr. Chesley is immensely wealthy, and having no near relatives desires to adopt some pretty, well-bred, affectionate-natured girl, who can take care of and cheer his old age; and to whom he can bequeath his name and fortune. His covetous eye has fallen upon my ward, and he seriously contemplates making some grave proposals to your mother, relative to transferring you to Washington, and thence to San Francisco. As Mr. Chesley's heiress, your future will be very brilliant, and I presume that in a voluntary choice of guardians, I am destined to lose my ward."

"Very soon my mother will be my guardian, and Mr. Chesley is certainly a gentleman of too much good sense and discretion to entertain such a thought relative to a stranger, of whom he knows absolutely nothing. A few polite kindly worded phrases bear no such serious interpretation."

She had bent so persistently over her book, that he closed and removed it beyond her reach, forcing her to regard him; for after the toil, contention, and brain-wrestling of the courtroom, it was his reward just now to look into her deep calm eyes, and watch the expressions vary in her untutored ingenuous countenance.

"Men, especially confirmed old bachelors, are sometimes very capricious and foolish; and my friend Mr. Chesley appears to have fallen hopelessly into the depth of your eyes. In vain I assured him that Helmholtz has demonstrated that the deepest blue eye is after all only a turbid medium. In his infatuation he persists that science is a learned bubble, and that your eyes are wells of truth and inspiration. Of course you desire that I shall present your affectionate regards to your future guardian?"

"You can improvise any message you deem advisable, but I send none."

A faint colour was stealing into her cheeks, and the long lashes drooped before the bright black eyes, that had borne down many a brave face on the witness stand.

The clock struck, and Mr. Palma compared his watch with its record.

He was loath to quit that charming quiet room, which held the fair innocent young queen of his love, and hasten away upon the impending journey; but it was important that he should not miss the railway train, and he smothered a sigh:

"This morning I neglected to give you a letter which arrived yesterday, and of course I need expect no pardon when you ascertain that it is from 'India's coral strand.' If 'Brother Douglass' is as indefatigable in the discharge of his missionary as his epistolary labours, he deserves a crown of numerous converts. This letter was enclosed in one addressed to me, and I prefer that you should postpone your reply until my return. I intended to mention the matter this morning, but was absorbed in court proceedings, and now I am too much hurried."

She put the letter into her pocket, and at the same time drew out a small envelope containing the amount of money she had borrowed. Rising, she handed it to him.

"Allow me to cancel my debt."

As he received it, their fingers met, and a hot flush rushed over the lawyer's weary face. He bit his lip, and recovered himself before she observed his emotion.

"That alms-giving episode is destined to yield an inestimable harvest of benefits. But I must hurry away. Pray do not take passage for the jungles of Oude before I return, for whenever you leave me I should at least like the ceremony of bidding my ward adieu. Good-bye."

She gave him her hand.

"Good-bye, Mr. Palma. I hope you will have a pleasant trip."

As she stood before him, the rich blue of her soft cashmere dress rendered her pearly complexion fairer still, and though keen pain gnawed at her heart, no hint of her suffering marred the perfection of her face.

"Lily, where did you get those lovely white hyacinths? Yesterday I ordered a bouquet of them, but could procure none. Would you mind giving me the two that smell so deliciously in your hair? I want them—well—no matter why. Will you oblige me?"

"Certainly, sir; but I have a handsomer fresher spike of flowers in a glass in my room, which I will bring down to you."

She turned, but he detained her.

"No, these are sufficiently pretty for my purpose, and I am hurried.
I trust I may be pardoned this robbery of your floral ornaments,
since you will probably see neither Mr. Roscoe, Mr. Chesley, nor yet
Padre Sahib this evening."

She laid the snowy perfumed bells in his outstretched hand, and said:

"I am exceedingly glad that even in such a trifle I can contribute to your pleasure, and I assure you that you are perfectly welcome to my hyacinths."

The sweet downcast face, and slightly wavering voice appealed to all that was tender and loving in his cold undemonstrative nature, and he was strongly tempted to take her in his arms, and tell her the truth, which every day he found it more difficult to conceal.

"Thank you. Some day, Lily, I will tell you their mission and fate.
Should I forget, remind me."

He smiled, bowed, and hurried from the room, leaving her sadly perplexed.

At dinner Mrs. Palma said:

"I have promised to chaperon the Brace sisters to-night to the opera, and shall take tea at their house. Were I sure of a seat for you, I should insist upon taking you, for I dislike to leave you so much alone; but the box might be full, and then things would be awkward."

"You need have no concern on my account, for I have my books, and am accustomed to being alone. Moreover, I am not particularly partial to the music of 'Martha' which will be played to-night."

"Did your guardian tell you he has just won that great 'Migdol' case that created so much interest?"

"He mentioned it. Mrs. Palma, I thought he looked weary and jaded; as if he needed a rest, rather than a journey."

"Erle is never weary. His nerves are steel, and he will speedily forget his court-house cares in Mrs. Carew's charming conversation."

"But she is not in Washington?"

"She told me yesterday she would go there this afternoon, and showed me the most superb maize-coloured satin just received from Worth, which she intends wearing to-morrow evening at the French Ambassador's ball, or reception. You know she is very fascinating, and though Erle thinks little about women, I really believe she will succeed in driving law books, for a little while at least, out of his cool clear head. My dear, I am going to write a short note. Will you please direct Hattie to bring my opera hat, cloak, and glasses?"

With inexpressible relief, Regina heard the heavy silk rustle across the hall, when she took her departure, and rejoiced in the assurance that there was no one to intrude upon her solitude.

How she wished that she could fly to some desert, where undiscovered she might cry aloud, in the great agony that possessed her heart.

The thought that her guardian had hastened away to accompany that grey-eyed, golden-haired witch of a woman to Washington was intolerably bitter; and as she contemplated the possibility, nay the probability, of his speedy marriage, a wild longing seized her to make her escape, and avoid the sight of such a spectacle.

When she recalled his proud, handsome, composed face, and tried to imagine him the husband of Mrs. Carew, bending over, caressing her, the girl threw her arms on his writing desk, and sunk her face upon them, as if to shut out the torturing vision.

She knew that he was singularly reserved and undemonstrative; she had never seen him fondle or caress anything, and the bare thought that his stern marble lips would some day seek and press that woman's scarlet mouth made her shiver with a pang that was almost maddening.

How cruelly mocking that he should take her favourite snowy hyacinths to offer them to Mrs. Carew! Did his keen insight penetrate the folly she had suffered to grow up in her own heart, and had he coolly resorted to this method of teaching her its hopelessness?

If she could leave New York before his return, and never see him again, would it not be best? His eyes were so piercing, he was so accustomed to reading people's emotions in their countenance, and she felt that she could not survive his discovery of her secret.

What did his irony relative to India portend? Hitherto she had quite forgotten the letter from Mr. Lindsay, and now breaking the seal, sought an explanation.

A few faded flowers fell out as she unfolded it, and ere she completed the perusal a cry escaped her. Mr. Lindsay wrote that his health had suffered so severely from the climate of India that he had been compelled to surrender his missionary work to stronger hands, and would return to his native land. He believed that rest and America would restore him, and now he fully declared the nature of his affection, and the happiness with which he anticipated his reunion with her; reminding her of her farewell promise that none should have his place in her heart. More than once she read the closing words of that long letter.

"I had intended deferring this declaration until you were eighteen, and restored to your mother's care; but my unexpectedly early return, and the assurance contained in your letters that your love has in no degree diminished, determine me to acquaint you at once with the precious hope that so gladdens the thought of our approaching reunion. While your decision must of course be subject to and dependent on your mother's approval, I wish you to consult only the dictates of your heart, believing that all my future must be either brightened or clouded by your verdict. Open the package given to you in our last interview, and if you have faithfully kept your promise let me see upon your hand the ring which I shall regard as the pledge of our betrothal. Whether I live many or few years, God grant that your love may glorify and sanctify my earthly sojourn. In life or death, my darling Regina, believe me always,

"Your devoted

"DOUGLASS."

Below the signature, and dated a week later, were several lines in Mrs. Lindsay's handwriting, informing her that her son had again been quite ill, but was improving; and that within the ensuing ten days they expected to sail for Japan, and thence to San Franciso, where Mrs. Lindsay's only sister resided. In conclusion she earnestly appealed to Regina, as the daughter of her adoption, not to extinguish the hope that formed so powerful an element in the recovery of her son Douglass.

Was it the mercy of God, or the grim decree of fatalism, or the merest accident that provided this door of escape, when she was growing desperate?

Numb with heart-ache, and strangely bewildered, Regina could recognize it only as a providential harbour, into which she could safely retreat from the storm of suffering that was beginning to roar around her. Recalling the peaceful happy years spent at the parsonage, and the noble character of the man who loved her so devotedly, who had so tenderly cared for her through the season of her childhood, a gush of grateful emotion pleaded that she owed him all that he now asked.

When she contrasted the image of the pale student, so affectionate, so unselfishly considerate in all things, with the commanding figure and cold, guarded, non-committal face of Mr. Palma, she shivered and groaned: but the comparison only goaded her to find safety in the sheltering love, that must at least give her peace.

If she were Douglass Lindsay's wife, would she not find it far easier to forget her guardian? Would it be sinful to promise her hand to one, while her heart stubbornly enshrined the other? She loved Mr. Lindsay very much: he seemed holy, in his supremely unselfish and deeply religious life; and after awhile perhaps other feelings would grow up toward him.

In re-reading the letter, she saw that Mr. Lindsay had informed Mr. Palma of the proposal which it contained; as he deemed it due to her guardian to acquaint him with the sentiments they entertained for each other.

Should she reject the priestly hand and loyal heart of the young missionary, would not Mr. Palma suspect the truth?

She realized that the love in her heart was of that deep exhaustive nature which comes but once to women, and since she must bury it for ever, was it not right that she should dedicate her life to promoting Mr. Lindsay's happiness? Next to her mother, did she not owe him more than any other human being?

As she sat leaning upon Mr. Palma's desk, she saw his handkerchief near the inkstand, where he had dropped it early that morning; and taking it up, she drew it caressingly across her check and lips. Everything in this room, where since her residence in New York she had been accustomed to see him, grew sacred from association with him, and all that he touched was strangely dear.

For two hours she sat there, very quiet, weighing the past, considering the future; and at last she slowly resolved upon her course.

She would write that night to her mother, enclose Mr. Lindsay's letter, and if her mother's permission could be obtained, she would give her hand to Douglass, and in his love forget the brief madness that now made her so wretched.

From the date of the postscript she discovered that the letter had been delayed en route, and computing the time from Yokohama to San Francisco, according to information given by Mr. Chesley, she found that unless some unusual detention had occurred, the vessel in which Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay intended to sail should have already reached California.

Mr. Palma's jest relative to India was explained; and evidently he had not sufficient interest in her decision even to pause and ask it. Knowing the contents, he had with cold indifference carried the letter for two days in his pocket, and handed it to her just as he was departing.

She imagined him sitting in the car, beside Mrs. Carew, admiring her beauty, perhaps uttering in her ear tender vows, never breathed by his lips to any other person; while she—the waif, the fatherless, nameless, obscure young girl—sat there alone desperately fighting the battle of destiny.

Bitter as was this suggestion of her aching heart, it brought strength; and rising, she laid aside the handkerchief, and quitted the apartment that babbled ceaselessly of its absent master.

Among some precious souvenirs of her mother she kept the package which had been given to her by Mr. Lindsay with the request that it should remain unopened until her eighteenth birthday; and how she unlocked the small ebony box that contained her few treasures.

The parcel was sealed with red wax, and when she removed the enveloping pasteboard, she found a heavy gold ring, bearing a large beautifully tinted opal, surrounded with small diamonds. On the inside was engraved "Douglass and Regina," with the date of the day on which he had left the parsonage for India.

Kneeling beside her bed, she prayed that God would help her to do right, would guide her into the proper path, would enable her to do her duty, first to her mother, then to Mr. Lindsay.

When she rose, the ring shone on her left hand, and though her face was worn and pallid her mournful eyes were undimmed, and she sat down to write her mother frankly concerning the feelings of intense gratitude and perfect confidence which prompted her to accept Mr. Lindsay's offer, provided Mrs Orme consented to the betrothal.

Ere she had concluded the task, her attention was attracted by a noise on the stairs that were situated near her door.

It was rather too early for Mrs. Palma's return from the opera, and the servants were all in a different portion of the building.

Regina laid down her pen, and listened. Slow heavy footsteps were ascending, and recognizing nothing familiar in the sound, she walked quickly to the door which stood ajar, and looked out.

A tall woman wrapped in a heavy shawl had reached the landing, and as the gaslight fell upon her, Regina started forward.

"Olga! we did not expect you until to-morrow, but you are disguised!
Oh! what is the matter?"

Wan and haggard, apparently ten years older than when she ran down these steps a week previous departing for Albany, Olga stood clinging to the mahogany rail of the balustrade. Her large straw bonnet had fallen back, the heavy hair was slipping low on neck and brow, and her sunken eyes had a dreary stare.

"Are you ill? What has happened? Dear Olga, speak to me."

She threw her arms around the regal figure, and felt that she was shivering from head to foot.

As she became aware of the close clinging embrace in which Regina held her, a ghastly smile parted Olga's colourless lips, and she said said in a husky whisper:

"Is it you? True little heart; the only one left in all the world."

After a few seconds, she added:

"Where is mamma?"

"At the opera."

"To see Beelzebub? All the world is singing and playing that now, and you may be sure that you and I shall be in at the final chorus. Regina——"

She swept her hand feebly over her forehead, and seemed to forget herself.

Then she rallied, and a sudden spark glowed in her dull eyes, as when a gust stirs an ash heap, and uncovers a dying ember.

"Erle Palma?"

"Has gone to Washington."

"May he never come back! O God! a hundred deaths would not satisfy me! A hundred graves were not sufficient to hide him from my sight!"

She groaned and clasped her hand across her eyes.

"What dreadful thing has occurred? Tell me, you know that you can trust me."

"Trust! no, no; not even the archangels that fan the throne of God. I have done with trust. Take me in your room a little while. Hide me from mamma until to-morrow; then it will make no difference who sees me."

Regina led her to the low rocking chair in her own room, and took off the common shawl and bonnet which she had used as a disguise, then seized her cold nerveless hand.

"Do tell me your great sorrow."

"Something rare nowaday. I had a heart, a live, warm, loving heart, and it is broken; dead—utterly dead. Regina, I was so happy yesterday. Oh! I stood at the very gate of heaven, so close that all the glory and the sweetness blew upon me, like June breezes over a rose hedge; and the angels seemed to beckon me in. I went to meet Belmont, to join him for ever, to turn my back on the world, and as his wife pass into the Eden of his love and presence…. Now, another gate yawns, and the fiends call me to come down, and if there really be a hell, why then——"

For nearly a moment she remained silent.

"Olga, is he ill? Is he dead?"

A cry as of one indeed broken-hearted came from her quivering lips, and she clasped her arms over her head.

"Oh, if he were indeed dead! If I could have seen him and kissed him in his coffin! And known that he was still mine, all mine, even in the grave——"

Her head sank upon her bosom, and after a brief pause she resumed in an unnaturally calm voice.

"My world so lovely yesterday has gone to pieces; and for me life is a black crumbling ruin. I hung all my hopes, my prayers, my fondest dreams on one shining silver thread of trust, and it snapped, and all fall together. We ask for fish, and are stung by scorpions; we pray for bread—only bare bread for famishing hearts—and we are stoned. Ah! it appears only a hideous dream; but I know it is awfully, horribly true."

"What is true? Don't keep me in suspense."

Olga bent forward, put her large hands on Regina's shoulders as the latter knelt in front of her, and answered drearily:

"He is married."

"Not Mr. Eggleston?"

"Yes, my Belmont. For so many years he has been entirely mine, and oh, how I loved him! Now he is that woman's husband. Bought with her gold. I intended to run away and marry him; go with him to Europe, where I should never see Erle Palma's cold devilish black eyes again. Where in some humble little room hid among the mountains, I could be happy with my darling. I sold my jewellery, even my richest clothing, that I might have a little money to defray expenses. Then I wrote Belmont of my plans, told him I had forsaken everything for him, and appointed a place in this city where we could meet. I hastened down from Albany, disguised myself, and went to the place of rendezvous. After waiting a long time, his cousin came; brought me a letter, showed me the marriage notice. Only two days ago they—Belmont and that woman—were married, and they sailed for Europe at noon to-day, in the steamer upon which I had expected to go as a bride. He wrote that with failing health, penury staring him in the face, and, despairing at last of being able to win me, he had grown reckless, and sold himself to that wealthy widow who had long loved him, and who would provide generously for his helpless mother. He said he dared not trust himself to see me again. And so, all is over for ever."

She dropped her head on her clenched hands, and shuddered. "Dear
Olga, he was not worthy of you, or he would never have deserted you.
If he truly loved you, he never could have married another, for——"

She paused, for the shimmer of the diamonds on her hand accused her. Was she not contemplating similar treachery? Loving one man, how dare she entertain the thought of listening to another's suit. She was deeply and sincerely attached to Douglass, she reverenced him more than any living being; but she knew that it was not the same feeling her heart had declared for her guardian, and she felt condemned by her own words.

Olga made an impatient motion, and answered:

"Hush—not a word against him; none shall dishonour him. He was maddened, desperate. My poor darling! Erle Palma and mamma were too much for us, but we shall conquer at last. Belmont will not live many months; he had a hemorrhage from his lungs last week, and in a little while we shall be united. He will not long wait to join me."

She leaned back and smiled triumphantly, and Regina became uneasy as she noted the unnatural expression of her eyes.

"What do you mean, Olga? You make me unhappy, and I am afraid you are ill."

"No, dear; but I am tired. So tired of everything in this hollow, heartless, shameful world, that I want to lie down and rest. For eight years nearly I have leaned on one hope for comfort; now it has crumbled under me, and I have no strength. Will you let me sleep here with you to-night? I will not keep you awake."

"Let me help you to undress. You know I shall be glad to have you here."

Regina unbuttoned her shoes, and began to draw them off, while Olga mechanically took down and twisted her weighty hair. Once she put her hand on her pocket, and her eyes glittered.

"I want a glass of wine, or anything that will quiet me. Please go down to the dining-room, and get me something to put me to sleep. My head feels as if it were on fire."

The tone was so unusually coaxing, that Regina's suspicions were aroused.

"I don't know where to find the key of the wine closet."

"Then wake Octave, and tell him to give you some wine He keeps port and madeira for soups and sauces. You must I would do as much for you. I will go to Octave."

She attempted to rise, but Regina feigned acquiescence, and left the room, closing the door, but leaving a crevice. Outside, she knelt down and peeped through the key-hole.

Alarmed by the unnatural expression of the fiery hazel eyes, a horrible dread overshadowed her, and she trembled from head to foot.

While she watched, Olga rose, turned her head and listened intently; then drew something from her pocket, and Regina saw that it was a glass vial.

"I win at last. To-morrow, mamma and her stepson will not exult over this victory. If I have an immortal soul may God—my Maker and Judge—have mercy upon me!"

She drew out the cork with her teeth, turned, and as she lifted the vial to her lips, Regina ran in and seized her arm.

"Olga, you are mad! Would you murder yourself?"

They grappled; Olga was much taller and now desperately strong, but luckily Regina had her fingers also on the glass, and, dragging down the hand that clenched it, the vial was inverted, and a portion of the contents fell upon the carpet.

Feeling the liquid run through her fingers, Olga uttered la cry of baffled rage of despair, and struck the girl a heavy blow in the face that made her stagger; but almost frantic with terror Regina improved the opportunity afforded by the withdrawal of one of the large hands, to tighten her own grasp, and in the renewed struggle succeeded in wrenching away the vial. The next instant, she hurled it against the marble mantlepiece, and saw it splintered into numberless fragments.

As the wretched woman watched the fluid oozing over the hearth, she cried out and covered her face with her hands.

"Dear Olga, you are delirious, and don't know what you are doing. Go to bed, and when you lie down, I will get the wine for you. Please, dear Olga! You wring my heart."

"Oh, you call yourself my friend, and you have been most cruel of all! You keep me from going to a rest that would have no dreams, and no waking, and no to-morrow. Do you think I will live and let them taunt me with my folly, my failure? Let that iron fiend show his white teeth, and triumph over me? People will know I sold my clothes, and tried to run away, and was forsaken. Oh! if you had only let me alone! I should very soon lave been quiet; out of even Erle Palma's way! Now——"

She gave utterance to a low, distressing wail, and rocked herself, murmuring some incoherent words.

"Olga, your mother has come, and unless you wish her to hear you, and come in, do try to compose yourself."

Shuddering at the mention of her mother, she grew silent, moody, and suffered Regina to undress her. After a long while, during which she appeared absolutely deaf to all appeals, she rose, smiled strangely, and threw herself across the bed; but the eyes were beginning to sparkle, and now and then she laughed almost hysterically.

When an hour had passed, and no sound came from the prostrate figure, Regina leaned over to look at her, and discovered that she was whispering rapidly some unintelligible words.

Once she startled up, exclaiming:

"Don't have such a hot fire! My head is scorching."

Regina watched her anxiously, softly stroking one of her hands, trying to soothe her to sleep; but after two o'clock, when she grew more restless and incoherent in her muttering, the young nurse felt assured she was sinking into delirium, and decided to consult Mrs. Palma.

Concealing the shawl and bonnet, and gathering up the most conspicuous fragments of glass on the hearth, she put them out of sight, and hurried to Mrs. Palma's room.

She was astonished to find her still awake, sitting before a table, and holding a note in her hand.

"What is the matter, Regina?"

"Olga has come home, and I fear she is very ill. Certainly she is delirious."

"Oh! then she has heard it already! She must have seen the paper. I knew nothing of it until to-night, when Erle's hasty note from Philadelphia reached me, after I left the opera. I dreaded the effect upon my poor, unfortunate child. Where is she?"

"In my room."