How fervent had been his prayer that when he returned, he might find her “unspotted from the world.”  Was she?  Could she bear to deceive the brave loyal heart that trusted her so completely?

Once at church she had witnessed a marriage, heard the awfully solemn vows that the bride registered in the sight of God, and to-day the words flamed like the sword of the avenging angel, like a menace, a challenge.  Would Douglass take her for his wife, if he knew that Mr. Palma had become dearer to her than all the world beside?  Could she deny that his voice and the touch of his hand on hers magnetized, thrilled her, as no one else had power to do?  She could think without pain of Mr. Lindsay selecting some other lady and learning to love her as his wife, forgetting the child Regina; but when she forced herself to reflect that her guardian would soon be Mrs. Carew’s husband, the torture seemed unendurable.

Unlocking a drawer, she spread before her all the little souvenirs Mr. Lindsay had given her.  The faded flowers that once glowed under the fervid sun of India, the seal and pen, the blue and gold Tennyson, and Whittier, and the pretty copy of Christina Rossetti’s poems, he had sent from Liverpool.  One by one she read his letters ending with the last which Mr. Palma had laid on her lap when he left the carriage.

Despite her efforts, above the dear meek gentle image of the consecrated and devout missionary towered the stately proud form of the brilliant lawyer, with his chilling smile and haughty marble brow; and she knew that he reigned supreme in her heart.  He was not so generous, so nobly self-sacrificing, so holy and pious as Mr. Lindsay, nor did she reverence him so entirely; but above all else she loved him.  Conscience, pride, and womanly delicacy all clamoured in behalf of the absent but faithful lover; and the true heart answered, “Away with sophistry, and gratitude, pitying affection, and sympathy!  I am vassal to but one; give me Erle Palma, my king.”

If she married Douglass and he afterward discovered the truth, could he be happy, could he ever trust her again?  She resolved to go to San Francisco, to tell Mr. Lindsay without reservation all that she felt, withholding only the name of the man whom she loved best; and if he could be content with the little she could give in return for his attachment, then with no deception flitting like a ghoul between them, she would ask her mother’s permission to dedicate the future to Douglass Lindsay.  She would never see her guardian again, and when he was married it would be sinful even to think of him, and her duties and new ties must help her to forget him.

Pleading weariness and indisposition, she had absented herself from dinner, and when night came it was upon leaden wings that oppressed her.  Feverish and restless she raised the sash, and though the temperature was freezing outside, she leaned heavily on the sill and inhaled the air.  A distant clock struck eleven, and she stood looking at the moon that flooded the Avenue with splendour, and shone like a sheet of silver on the glass of a window opposite.