“I do not know that your kindness will be needed after all,” said Adelaide, sadly.  “My brother is very ill; he may not recover.  Oh, what a fatal day it was when he first saw you, Miss Arleigh!”

Now, Marion had often rehearsed this interview.  She had pictured herself as taking the part of a very dignified queen; of saying to this interesting subject who was dying for love of her, “Stay.”  She imagined his delight at her condescension, his sister’s gratitude for her kindness; and now, behold, nothing of the kind was wanting—­the pretty role she had sketched out for herself required no playing.

“I do not think I need make any arrangement for the little interview you promised my brother,” said Miss Lyster to the simple girl.  “I have had a note from him this morning.  He is in better health, but he is in despair, and he cannot hide it.  He absolutely refuses to believe that you have consented to see him.  Unless you tell him so yourself, he will never believe it.”

“But how can I tell him?” asked the girl.

“Write on a piece of paper, ’Come at the hour and place your sister appoints.  I wish to see you.’  Then he will come.  I am writing tonight, and will enclose the note.”

It would rather take from her queenlike attitude, she thought; but as she had promised the kindness, it would not be graceful to dispute as to how it should be granted; so, under the guidance of the woman to whom her innocent youth was entrusted, she sealed her fate with her own hands.

CHAPTER V.

“How am I to thank you?” said Adelaide Lyster to the girl she had betrayed.  “I have a letter from Allan, and he says the very thought of seeing you has given him a fresh life—­fresh energy.  I have never read anything so rapturous in my life.  Do you wish to see the letter?”

As Marion Arleigh read the passionate, poetical words that had been written expressly for her, her face flushed.  How wonderful it was to hold a man’s life in her hands—­to sway a genius so that her nod meant stay or go, her least words meant happiness or misery!  She looked around with something of pity for other girls who had not this new and wonderful sensation.

“A life in her hands!” There came to her, young as she was, a vague idea of woman’s power for good or for evil.  A cruel or cold word from her, and the artist would go in his misery only to seek death in some far-off land.  A kind word, and he would remain—­his genius would have its sway, and he would paint pictures that the world should glory in.

“I have arranged it all,” said Miss Lyster.  “Miss Carleton is going to-day to that grand dinner-party at Macdonald’s.  She has given orders that the young ladies shall go over to Herrington, and take some refreshments with them—­it will be a picnic on a small scale.  You can excuse yourself from going.  I will volunteer to remain with you, and toward sunset, we will walk through the old orchard.  Allan will await us there.”