Jewel moved from her position in front of the fire, and trailed the beautiful folds of her purple velvet dress across the floor to the window.

She drew back a fold of the lace curtain and peered through the window-pane and the closed shutters into the street.

The short, wintery afternoon was darkening into twilight, and the sky was obscured by dark, heavy clouds. The proud, imperious beauty leaned her brow against the cold pane, trying to solve the problem that tormented her mind.

"I must get rid of her somehow. She dimly suspects treachery on my part. If she goes out of the house again she will prosecute her search and learn all," she thought. "Ah, I have a plan! If I could only detain her here long enough to have that doctor come and take her to the maison de santÉ where mamma is, she would never get out again!"

She turned swiftly, crossed the room to Flower, and sat down by her side on the sofa, placing her white arm around her sister's neck.

"My poor little sister, forgive me my harshness," she whispered, penitently.

The drooping, despondent girl started and looked up. That Judas face was wreathed in a loving smile that bewildered her. Never had she caught such a look on her half-sister's face since their early happy days ere Laurie Meredith's love had come between their hearts.

"Jewel!" she exclaimed, incredulously.

"Darling Flower!" answered the other, and clasped her victim in a loving embrace, whispering, fondly:

"You see how the old love comes back, dear, in spite of all my efforts to be your enemy. After all, we are half-sisters. Nothing can alter that, just as nothing can wholly change our love that was so sweet and strong when we believed ourselves twins. I forgive you all, for—listen"—and she pressed her lips to Flower's cold cheek—"I loved him, too, you know, and if he had fancied me I might have been his victim instead of you."

Flower clung to her, weeping, all her resentment and suspicion melted before this specious show of solicitude and affection.

"And," continued Jewel, "I want you to stay with me always, Flower, and share my home and my wealth. You must take off these shabby clothes that," playfully, "looks as if they belonged to somebody's servant. Marie shall bring you one of my prettiest tea-gowns, and when we have had some tea you shall tell me where you have been all this while, the reason you ran away that night, and what became of your little child."

As if those words touched a subtle cord of memory, Flower flung off the arm that clasped her with sinuous softness, like a serpent's fold, and cried out, in a terrified voice:

"Not now, Jewel, for I have stayed too long already. I shall be missed; my—they will be alarmed at my long absence. I must go now, dear sister, but I—I will come again, or—I will write."

She rushed toward the door, but Jewel clung to her tightly, entreating her to stay.

"This is your home, your rightful home," she cried, desperately. "It is too dark and cold for you to go out now! At least stay to-night, and in the morning—"

She never finished the sentence, for Flower interrupted her, protesting that she could not, would not, must not stay. She would come again, but her mistress expected her now.

Jewel's arms began to tighten obstinately about Flower, and then, frightened and panting, the girl began to struggle frantically to get away.

It all passed in a minute. Jewel saw that her victim would escape her, for her frantic struggles began to tell, and she was dragging her foe with her toward the door. There was a marble-topped stand in their way, littered with costly trifles of bric-À-brac. Jewel flung out one hand, caught up something, she knew not what, and brought it down heavily on the golden head from which the close bonnet had fallen in the struggle.

There was one low, stifled moan, one only, then the struggling form relaxed its rigidity, the outstretched arms fell heavily, and in a minute more Jewel was standing still, looking at something lying very white and still upon the floor.