“Sleep, my little one, sleep,—­
Sleep, my pretty one,—­sleep.”

When she was his wife, how often in the blessed evenings spent here, in this hallowed room, he promised himself he would make her sing that song.  No shadow of doubt that whenever he chose, he could win her for his own, clouded the brightness of the vision, for success in other pursuits had fed his vanity, until he believed himself invincible; and although he had studied her character closely, he failed to comprehend fully the proud obstinacy latent in her quiet nature.

Just then even the Chief Justiceship seemed an inferior prize, in comparison with the possession of that white-browed girl, and her pure clinging love; and certainly for a time Mr. Erle Palma’s towering pride and insatiable ambition were forgotten in his longing to snatch the one beloved of all his arid life to the heart that was throbbing almost beyond even his rigid control.

For the first time within his recollection he distrusted his power of self-restraint, and rising passed quickly into his own room, and thence after some moments out into the hall.  Near the stairs he met the mulatto nurse carrying Llora in her arms.

“Does Mrs. Carew permit that child to sit up so late?”

“Oh no, sir!  She has been asleep once; but Miss Regina pets her a good deal, and had her in the library singing to her.”

“Mr. Palma, shall I kiss you good-night?” asked the pretty creole, lifting her curly head from her “mammie’s” shoulder.

“Good-night, Llora.  Such tender birds should have been in their nests long before this.  I shall go and scold Miss Orme for keeping you awake so late.”

He merely patted her rosy round cheek, and went to the library.

Hearing his unmistakable step, Regina conjectured that he had escorted the ladies home much earlier than they were accustomed to return, and longing to avoid the possibility of a tete-a-tete with him, she would gladly have escaped before his entrance had been practicable.

He closed the door, and came forward, and, leaning back in the chair where she still sat, her hands closed tightly over each other.

“I fear my ward is learning to keep late hours.  It is after eleven o’clock, and you should be dreaming of the cool, beryl, aquatic abodes you have been frequenting as Undine; for indeed you look a very weary naiad.”

Was he pleased with her success, and would he deem to give her a morsel of commendation?

A moment after, she knew that he entertained no such purpose, and felt that she ought to rejoice; that it was far best he should not, for praise from his lips would be dangerously sweet.

Glancing at the floral tribute laid before her mother’s portrait, he said: 

“You certainly are a faithful devotee at your mother’s shrine, and no wonder poor Roscoe is so desperately savage at his failure to engage a portion of your regard.  Did you have a satisfactory interview with him on Tuesday last?  I invited him for that purpose, as he avowed himself dissatisfied with my efforts as proxy, and demanded the privilege of pleading his own cause.  Permit me to hope that he successfully improved the opportunity which I provided by requesting him to escort you to dinner.”