The man whom she most intensely hated, and most ardently longed to humiliate and abase in public estimation, had escaped the punishment; housed from reproach by the stony walls of the tomb, mocking her efforts to requite the suffering he had inflicted; and the keenest anticipations of her vindictive purpose were foiled, vanquished.

One morning, ten days after the presentation of “Infelice,” Mrs. Orme sat listening to her daughter, who, observing her restless, dissatisfied manner, proposed to read aloud.  Between the two had fallen an utter silence with reference to the past, and not an allusion had been made to Cuthbert Laurance since the night he had first held his daughter to his heart.  Death had dropped like a sacred seal upon its memorable incidents, which all avoided; but mother and child seemed hourly to cling more closely to each other.

To-day sitting on a low ottoman, with her arm thrown across her mother’s knee, while the white hand wearing the black agate wandered now and then over her drooping head, Regina read the “Madonna Mia.”

She had not concluded the perusal, when a card was brought in, and a glance at her mother’s countenance left her no room to doubt the name it bore.

“After five minutes, show him in.”

Mrs. Orme closed her eyes, and her lips trembled.

“My daughter, do you desire to be present at this last earthly interview?”

“No, mother.  My wrongs I freely forgive, I told him so, but yours I can never forget; and I would prefer in future not to meet him.  God pity and comfort you both.”

She kissed her mother’s cheek, lips, even her hands, and hastily retreated.  As she vanished, Mrs. Orme threw herself on her knees, and her lips moved rapidly while she wrung her fingers; but the petition was inaudible, known only to the Searcher of hearts.  Was it for strength to prosecute to the bitter end, or for grace to forgive?

She placed a strong metal box on the ormolu stand near her chair, and had just resumed her seat when Mr. Laurance entered, and approached her.  He was in deep mourning, and his intensely pale but composed face bore the chastening lines of a profound and hopeless sorrow; but retained the proud unflinching regard peculiar to his family.

Of the two, he was most calm and self-possessed.  Bowing in answer to the inclination of her head, he drew a chair in front of her, and when he sat down she saw a package of papers in his hand.

“I am glad, Mrs. Laurance, that you grant me this opportunity of saying a few words, which after to-day I shall seek no occasion to repeat; for with this interview ends all intercourse between us, at least in this world.  These papers I found in poor father’s private desk, and I have read them.  They are your notes, and the marriage contract, which only awaited the signature he intended to affix.”

She held out her hand, and a burning blush dyed her cheek, as she reflected on the loathsome purpose which had framed that carefully worded instrument.