The day came when Jaquelina was well enough to sit up in her darkened chamber again.

Then they sent word to Violet Earle that she might come to see her one day and Walter the next.

Ronald Valchester had gone back to Richmond on the same day that he had heard that Jaquelina would live.

Violet had fretted about him continually. She had never been quite well since the night of the fire. The terrible shock had wakened her nerves, and her heart. She was anxious to go back to Laurel Hill, but Walter would not hear of such a thing yet.

"Not until Lina is better," he urged. "When she is well enough to travel we will be quietly married, and then we will take her back to Laurel Hill with us."

Violet grew very impatient in the weary weeks of waiting. She fancied she would see Ronald oftener if she were only back in Virginia. He wrote to her sometimes—simple, friendly notes such as he had written her from abroad two years before, but he had never asked her to name the wedding-day yet. She was very glad when they sent her word that Jaquelina was well enough to receive a visit from her.

"They should have given me the first chance of paying her a visit," complained Walter.

He did not know that Jaquelina had purposely planned it so.

She wished that Violet would break to him the news of her changed appearance before he saw her himself.

Violet went away from that visit to the darkened, invalid chamber awed and saddened, and a little self-reproachful. She remembered how bitterly she had used to hate Jaquelina for that dazzling beauty that had won Ronald Valchester's heart. Of all that wondrous charm there remained only a memory now.

"She is an object to pity and sympathize with, but never to admire again," she told her brother in the first shock of his disappointment.

Walter's handsome face grew pale with dread and sorrow.

"You must prepare yourself for a great alteration, Walter," Violet continued. "Her face is red and scarred, her hair is all burned off short, even her long lashes are scorched and spoiled. It will be some time before anyone can look at her without a shudder. You may love your wife, Walter, but you can never be proud of her."

Walter shuddered at her emphatic words.

"Do not tell me any more, Violet," he groaned. "I cannot bear it. You only torture me. Let me find it out for myself."

"If you cannot bear to hear of it I do not know how you will bear the terrible reality," retorted Violet.

Walter could not answer her. He longed yet dreaded for the morrow.

The first thing he saw when he was ushered into Jaquelina's presence was her portrait hanging against the wall. It had been painted by the first artist in Italy. A few pale beams of winter sunshine stole in through the closed curtains and shone on the beautiful pictured face, touching it with a life-like glow. Then Walter looked away from it and saw a little figure in a quilted morning-wrapper of dark, gray satin, huddled into an easy-chair before the fire.

Walter went up to his betrothed. He saw that some uncontrollable impulse had caused her to bury her poor scarred face in her small, gloved hands. The short, soft, dark hair was hidden beneath a little cap of fine muslin and lace.

"Lina, my darling," he cried out in a voice of yearning pain, and she looked up reluctantly at her lover.

Then Walter saw that even Violet's words had not prepared him for the sorrowful reality.

To have saved his life he could not have repressed the groan of anguish that sight wrung from his lips. He had so loved that bright, fascinating beauty, he had been so proud of it when she had promised to be his own. Now at this moment it seemed to him that the girl he had loved was dead and buried, and this an utter stranger who looked up at him with that poor scarred face, and those dim and sad, dark eyes.

"Sit down, Mr. Earle," she said, gently. "It is even worse than you imagined, is it not?"

"Yes," he answered, like one dazed, then started, ashamed of his candor.

"Oh! forgive me, Lina," he cried, "I am talking like a brute."

He sat down then and tried not to look at the poor face that reminded him of a blighted flower. But some irresistible fascination drew his own gaze to meet the wistful eyes that had lost all their brightness now and were dim and misty with pain and weakness.

"Do I look at all like my old self?" she asked him, and he answered almost bluntly:

"No."

In the next breath he went on in a kind of passionate despair:

"Oh, Lina, you were so beautiful, and I loved your beauty so well. It almost kills me to see how utterly you have lost it."

"Did you prize my poor beauty so much?" she inquired, with a faint sigh.

She read his answer in the anguished eyes he turned upon her face. She saw that in losing her peerless beauty she had lost her charm for him.

After a moment she said, gently and gravely:

"The physicians believe that my face is spoiled forever, Walter. They are not sure but the shock and the illness have ruined my voice, also. How could you bear to have a wife whom you must always pity for her misfortunes, but could never worship for her fairness?"

He did not answer, but Jaquelina saw that the words had touched a tender spot in his heart. He bit his lips beneath his fair mustache, and an anxious gleam came into his blue eyes.

"I have been looking at my poor marred face in the glass," she went on, in her low, sad voice, "and I came to the conclusion that no one could ever love me any more. It is not fair to hold you to your promise now. I will give you back your freedom, Walter, if you will accept it from me."

"Lina!"

She scarcely understood whether it was relief or reproach that quivered in his quick exclamation.

"It shall be just as you wish," she said, quickly. "If you claim my promise, I am yours. If I have lost your love in losing my beauty, you are free."

"Lina, would it pain you if I take you at your word?" he asked in a low, abashed voice.

"No," she answered, with gentle frankness.

"You would not despise me?" he asked, anxiously, without looking at her.

"No," she said again.

He looked at her a moment, half irresolute.

"Do not fear to express your preference," she said, gently. "Either way I stand willing to abide by the consequences."

"Then, Lina, since you are so generous, I will take my freedom," he blurted out, looking away from her, very red and ashamed. "I am unworthy of you, my dear. I see now that it was only your beauty that held me in thrall. Can you forgive me for being so weak and shallow?"

"I am not angry with you, Mr. Earle," she replied, gently. "Most men would have felt the same—would they not?" but in her heart she felt that there was one, at least, whose fealty would not have faltered.

"Yes, most men would, I think," he replied, and when he had made Lina promise that she would still remain his friend, he went away to tell Violet what had occurred.

"It was a weak and shallow love after all," she mused, when she was thus left alone by her recreant lover. "I am glad he has found it out in time, and I am—oh, so glad that I need not marry Walter Earle."

And with clasped hands Jaquelina thanked God for the accident which had deprived her of all her charms and set her free from her engagement, for she had realized from the first that there could be nothing more galling in life than the bonds she had forged in her gratitude for Walter's brave quarrel with Gerald Huntington.

Yet life looked very long and lonely to the tearful, dark eyes as she sat there musing. She began to realise that love—beautiful love—had gone out of her life forever.