He disappeared, and almost simultaneously Mrs. Palma came back and kissed her daughter’s forehead.

With a low piteous wail, Olga threw her white hands up about her mother’s neck, and sobbed: 

“Oh, mamma! mamma! take me to your heart!  Pity me!”

CHAPTER XXVIII.

Since the night of Olga’s return, Regina had taken her meals in the sick-room, gladly availing herself of any pretext for avoiding the dreadful tete-a-tete breakfasts.

On the morning after the painful interview between Olga and Mr. Palma, the former desired to remove into her own apartment, and the easy chair in which she sat was wheeled carefully to the hearth in her room.

“Come close to me, dear child.”

Olga held her companion for some seconds in a tight embrace, then kissed her cheek and forehead.

“Patient, true little friend; you saved me from destruction.  How worn and white you look, and I have robbed you so long of sleep!  When I am stronger, I want to talk to you; but to-day I must be alone, must spend it among my dead hopes, sealing the sepulchres.  Jean Ingelow tells us of ‘a Dead Year’ ’cased in cedar, and shut in a sacred gloom;’ but I have seven to shroud and bury; and will the day ever dawn when I can truly say: 

Silent they rest, in solemn salvatory’?

Go out, dear, into the sunshine; you look so weary.  Leave me alone in the cold crypts of memory; you need not be afraid, I have no second vial of poison.”

She seemed so hopeless, and her voice was so indescribably mournful, that Regina’s eyes filled with tears, but Mrs. Palma just then called her into the hall.

“Erle says you must put on your hat, wrap up closely, and come downstairs.  He is waiting to take you to ride.”

She had not seen her guardian since he left Olga’s sofa the previous day, and answered without reflection.

“Ask him to excuse me.  I am not very well, and prefer remaining in my own room.”

From the foot of the stairs, Mr. Palma’s voice responded: 

“Fresh air will benefit you.  I insist upon your coming immediately.”

She leaned over the railing, and saw him buttoning his overcoat.

“Please, Mr. Palma, excuse me to-day.”

“Pardon me, I cannot.  The carriage is waiting.”

She was tempted to rebel outright, to absolutely refuse obedience to his authority, which threatened her with the dreaded interview, but a moment’s reflection taught her that resistance to his stubborn will was useless, and she went reluctantly downstairs, forgetting her gloves in her trepidation.  He handed her into the carriage, took a seat beside her, and directed Farley to drive to Central Park.