Mrs. Palma and Olga only knew that Regina had lost a dear friend whom she had not seen for years, and none but her guardian understood the nature of the sacred tie that bound them.

Day and night she was haunted by memories of the kind face never more to be seen this side of the City of Peace, and when at length she received a photograph taken after death, in which, wan and emaciated, he seemed sleeping soundly, she felt that her life could never again be quite the same, and that the grey shadowy wings of Regret drooped low over her future pathway.

Accompanying the photograph was a brief yet loving note written by Mr. Lindsay the evening before his death; and to it were appended the lines from “Jacqueline”: 

      “Nor shall I leave thee wholly.  I shall be—­
       An evening thought,—­a morning dream to thee,—­
       A silence in thy life, when through the night,
       The bell strikes, or the sun with sinking light,
       Smites all the empty windows.  As there sprout
       Daisies, and dimpling tufts of violets, out
       Among the grass where some corpse lies asleep,
       So round thy life, where I lie buried deep,
       A thousand little tender thoughts shall spring,
       A thousand gentle memories wind and cling.”

As if the opal were a talisman against the revival of reflections that seemed an insult to the dead, Regina wore the ring constantly; and whenever a thrill warned her of the old madness, her right hand caressed the jewels, seeking from their touch a renewal of strength.

Studiously she manoeuvred to avoid even casual meetings with her guardian, and except at the table, and in the presence of the family, she had not seen him for several weeks.  Business engagements occupied him very closely; he was called away to Albany, to Boston, and once to Philadelphia, but no farewells were exchanged with his ward, and as if conscious of her sedulous efforts to avoid him, he appeared almost to ignore her presence.

During these sad days the girl made no attempt to analyze the estrangement which she felt was hourly increasing between them.  She presumed he disapproved of her resolution to accept Mr. Lindsay, because he was poor, and offered no brilliant worldly advantages, such as her guardian had been trained to regard as paramount inducements in the grave matter of marriage; and secluding herself as much as possible she fought her battle with grief and remorse as best she might, unaided by sympathy.  If she could only escape from that house, with her secret undiscovered, she thought that in time she would crush her folly and reinstate herself in her own respect.

After several interviews with Mr. Palma, the details of which Olga communicated to no one, she had consented to hold her scheme of the “Sisterhood” in abeyance for twelve months, and to accompany her mother to Europe, whither she had formerly been eager to travel; and Mrs. Palma, in accordance with instructions from her stepson, had perfected her preparations, so as to be able to leave New York at a day’s notice.