It was decided that Ronald Valchester should not hear of Jaquelina's strange disappearance. Already he lay at death's door, and the physicians declared that another shock of any kind would utterly destroy his frail hold on life.

As consciousness returned to him they avoided all mention of that once familiar name in the sick-room; yet they knew many a time, by the look in the beautiful, dark-gray eyes, that he was thinking of the girl he had loved so well and lost so sadly.

Sometimes they wondered why he never spoke of her. They did not know how Ronald and Lina had parted—how sorrowfully he had said to her, even as he held the small hands tightly in his own, and looked at her with a soul's despair stamped on his death white face:

"Lina, this is the last time I must hold your hands, or even look into your face while Gerald Huntington lives. You are legally his, and I have never believed in divorce. If the law were to free you, I should still hold you bound to him by a higher power than man's law. So you understand, dear, it is best we should separate wholly, never, perhaps, to look on each other's faces again. I pray God that I may die, and so pass from this life that but a little while ago was so fair and tempting in my eyes, and that is now but an empty desert. For you, my sweet, lost love, may God bless you, and give us both the strength to bear the heavy cross of sorrow!"

And Jaquelina, remembering Doctor Leslie's words that he must not be excited or contradicted in any way, had bowed her head, and answered meekly:

"It must be so if you will it thus, Ronald. God give us both the patience to bear it."

And with those words, and one last, lingering look at the beloved face, Jaquelina had kissed his hands, and gone away, but she had not let him see that look on her face that the others had seen—that hopeless despair and pain that it frightened Walter Earle to remember.

So they kept the story away from Ronald, even while the unspoken language of his eyes said plainer than words:

"I am longing to hear something of my poor lost love. Even to hear her name spoken aloud would be a relief, since it is ever ringing itself in my brain."

But no one spoke of her, no one seemed to remember her existence. It seemed to Ronald that they were cruel to be so forgetful. He had placed a seal upon his own lips, but he would have trembled with pleasure if anyone else had even named her name.

Day by day there began to be some slight change in Ronald, faint at first, but growing more and more noticeable. The doctors began to have hopes of him.

They thought it more than likely he would pull through safely now. Yet they owned that there would long be a weakness in that wounded lung, and they strenuously recommended a sea voyage to him when he should be sufficiently recovered to undertake it.

"A sea voyage—a winter in Italy," said Doctor Sanborn, "would build up your constitution—make a new man of you."

"And lend new wings to your soaring fancy," laughed Doctor Leslie, who had found out that Ronald was a poet. "I should say that beautiful, dreamy Italy, is the true home of the poetic muse."

Ronald fell in with the plan at once, the more eagerly that he felt it would be best to put the whole width of the world between himself and Jaquelina. It seemed to him that if he were farther away that he must cease to be tormented by that passionate yearning for the lost one that haunted him now forever.

But there were weary days of lingering pain and slow convalescence to be passed over before that sea voyage could be undertaken. The red and gold of the October leaves blew in drifts across the lawn and in the wood before he was ever out of his room. Meanwhile his thoughts—in spite of himself—were ever busy with Jaquelina. He pictured her to himself many times daily. He wondered how she spent her time; he wondered if she had gone away to teach as she had meant to do before their evanescent dream of happiness. That fancy pained him.

It retarded his convalescence. It kept him restless and wakeful at night. He learned the full meaning of the poet's plaints:

General Valchester had returned home when his son was declared out of danger, but his wife remained to nurse and tend her darling. She was growing very impatient to take him home to Richmond.

It was a happy day for Violet Earle when the invalid was at last able to come down into the drawing-room and rest on the snowy pillows that she eagerly arranged for him. She had not been admitted to the sick-room much, but for the few days he would remain with them, she determined that she would do her best to win him. Jaquelina was out of the way now, and she had a fair field for her operations.

As she sat near the sunny window with her dainty basket of bright colored silks and embroideries, Ronald's eyes could rest on her without the trouble of turning his head, and he could not help seeing that she was very fair and beautiful. She had spent a long time at her toilet that morning, and the result was a very dainty and charming toilet. A morning dress of pale-blue cashmere, with front facings of shirred satin, made a perfect foil to her fair skin, blue eyes and golden hair. A delicate fichu of cream-colored lace was knotted around her throat and fastened on her breast by a cluster of pale, pink begonias. The delicate hands, flashing in and out through the bright colors of the embroidery, were soft and white, and gleaming with jewels. Mrs. Valchester was charmed with her. She wished very much that her son would take a fancy to her, since he had lost the girl he loved at first.

But Violet's presence was more of a pain than a pleasure to Ronald Valchester. She made him think all the more of Jaquelina. He had seen them so often together.

"I wish you were well enough to go out and walk in the woods," she said to him, lifting her blue eyes a moment to look at him; "you would be delighted with their autumn beauty. I sent you, yesterday, a little basket of leaves, the brightest and prettiest I could find. Did mamma give them to you?"

"Yes, but I think she forgot to tell me you had sent them," he replied. "Thank you for thinking of me so kindly. They were very beautiful. I enjoyed looking at them very much."

Violet pushed back the lace curtains that he might look out at the distant hills with their vivid coloring of scarlet and gold, blent with the dark green of holly and cedar and evergreen.

The autumn sunshine lay over all the scene, brightening it with its mellow light, and adding new beauty to the prospect. Ronald gazed on it long and unweariedly, and he could not help seeing pretty Violet, too, for she sat between him and the window with the golden light shining on her sunny hair.

"How beautiful it all is," Ronald said, with a passing gleam of enthusiasm. "The light is so soft and clear, the air so sweet, and those distant mountains look so blue and beautiful. It seems to me that Italy can scarcely be lovelier than my own native land."

Violet folded her white hands on her work, and looked at him earnestly.

"Oh, Mr. Valchester, I want you to promise me one thing!" she exclaimed.

He looked at her in some surprise.

"What can it be?" he inquired, rather gravely.

"Only this," she said, "that you will write to Walter every week while you are gone, and describe all the beauties of art and nature which you encounter in your travels. I do so love Italy, and long to see it, and if you describe it in your letters, graphically, as I know you will do, it will be almost like seeing it myself, for I will insist on reading all Walter's letters."

"I did not know you were so fond of the beauties of nature, Miss Earle," he replied in some surprise, and the color rose in her fair cheeks.

"I am very fond of nature," she replied, "but you have not promised me yet that you will write to my brother as I said."

"Of course I shall write to Walter," he said, "but I cannot promise that my letters will be very interesting. Perhaps you would prefer to hear me describe my travels when I return."

"Oh, yes, that would be delightful!" Violet cried, all smiles and pleasure. "So then you promise me to come to Laurel Hill when you return, and describe Italy to me?"

"Oh, yes, I will come," he replied, carelessly. "But I dare say you will be married and gone to a home of your own before that time."

"Oh! no indeed!" she cried out quickly. "If you stay ten years you will find me at Laurel Hill when you return."

"It will be quite a wonder if he does, then," said Mrs. Valchester, who had entered and overheard the last remarks. "It is not likely that the young men of Virginia will allow such a pretty girl to remain at Laurel Hill ten years longer!"

Violet laughed and blushed, and protested that she would never marry; but Ronald agreed with his mother that it was quite unlikely she should remain an old maid. She was exceedingly pretty for such a fate.