Standing there in her blue cashmere dress, relieved by dainty collar and cuffs of lace, she seemed indeed no longer a young almost childish girl, but one who had passed the threshold and entered the mysterious realm of early womanhood.

Rather below than above medium height, her figure was exquisitely moulded, and the beautiful head was poised on the shoulders with that indescribable proud grace one sometimes sees in perfect marble sculpture.  But the delicate woeful Oenone face, as white and gleaming under its shining coil of ebon hair, as a statue carved from the heart of Lygdos; how shall mere words ever portray its peculiar loveliness, its faultless purity?  Unconsciously she had paused in the exact position selected for that beautiful figure of “Faith” which Palmer has given to the world; and standing with drooping clasped hands and uplifted eyes gazing upon her mother’s portrait, as the “Faith” looks to the lonely cross above her the resemblance in form and features was so striking, that all who have studied that exquisite marble can readily recall the countenance of the girl in the library.

Turning away, she opened the organ, drew out the stops and began to play.

As the soft yet sacredly solemn strains rolled through the long room, hallowed associations of the old parsonage life floated up, clustering like familiar faces around her.  Once more she heard the cooing of ring-doves in the honeysuckle, and the loved voices, now silent in death, or far, far away among the palms of India.

“Cast thy burden on the Lord” had been one of their favourite selections at V——­, and now hoping for comfort she sang it.

It was the first time she had attempted it since the evening before the storm, when Mr. Lindsay had sung it with her, while Mr. Hargrove softly hummed the base, as he walked up and down the verandah, with his arm on his sister’s shoulder.

How many holy memories rushed like a flood over her heart and soul, burying for a time the bitter experience of to-day!

Unable to conclude the song, she leaned back in her chair, and gave way to the tears that rolled swiftly down her cheeks.

So wan and hopeless was her face that Mr. Palma, watching her from the curtained alcove, came quickly forward.

He was elegantly dressed in full evening toilette, and, throwing his white gloves on the table, approached his ward.

At sight of him she started up, and hastily wiped away the tears that obstinately dripped despite her efforts.

“Oh, sir!  I hoped you would forget to come home, and would go to Mrs. Tarrant’s.  I did not know you were in the house.”

“I never forget my duties, and though I am going to Mrs. Tarrant’s after a while, I attend to ‘business before pleasure’; it has been my lifelong habit.”

His new suit of black, and the white vest and cravat were singularly becoming to him.  He was aware of the fact; and even in the midst of her anxiety and depression, Regina thought she had never seen him look so handsome.