Hereupon ensued an embarrassing pause in the conversation, during which the ladies could not avoid observing the livid hue of Clarence’s face.  There was a perfect tumult raging in his breast; he knew that now his long-treasured secret would be brought out; this was to be the end of his struggle to preserve it—­to be exposed at last, when on the brink of consummating his happiness.  As he sat there, looking at George Stevens, he became a murderer in his heart; and if an invisible dagger could have been placed in his hands, he would have driven it to the hilt in his breast, and stilled for ever the tongue that was destined to betray him.

But it was too late; one glance at the contemptuous, malignant face of the son of his father’s murderer, told him his fate was sealed—­that it was now too late to avert exposure.  He grew faint, dizzy, ill,—­and rising, declared hurriedly he must go, staggered towards the door, and fell upon the carpet, with a slight stream of blood spirting from his mouth.

Little Birdie screamed, and ran to raise him; George Stevens and Miss Ellstowe gave their assistance, and by their united efforts he was placed upon the sofa.  Little Birdie wiped the bloody foam from his mouth with her tiny lace handkerchief, bathed his head, and held cold water to his lips; but consciousness was long returning, and they thought he was dying.

Poor torn heart! pity it was thy beatings were not stilled then for ever.  It was not thy fate; long, long months of grief and despair were yet to come before the end approached and day again broke upon thee.

Just at this crisis Mr. Bates came in, and was greatly shocked and alarmed by Clarence’s deathly appearance.  As he returned to consciousness he looked wildly about him, and clasping little Birdie’s hand in his, gazed at her with a tender imploring countenance:  yet it was a despairing look—­such a one as a shipwrecked seaman gives when, in sight of land, he slowly relaxes his hold upon the sustaining spar that he has no longer the strength to clutch, and sinks for ever beneath the waters.

A physician was brought in, who declared he had ruptured a minor blood-vessel, and would not let him utter a whisper, and, assisted by Mr. Bates, placed him in his carriage, and the three were driven as swiftly as possible to the hotel where Clarence was staying.  Little Birdie retired to her room in great affliction, followed by Miss Ellstowe, and George Stevens was left in the room alone.

“What can the fellow have been doing here?” he soliloquised; “on intimate terms too, apparently; it is very singular; I will wait Miss Ellstowe’s return, and ask an explanation.”

When Miss Ellstowe re-entered the room, he immediately inquired, “What was that Mr. Garie doing here?  He seems on an exceedingly intimate footing, and your friend apparently takes a wonderful interest in him.”

“Of course she does; that is her fiance.”