She was very white, but her face was firm, and the fidelity of her purpose was printed in her sad eyes.

“God bless my sweet, faithful, trusting child!”

Mrs. Laurance could not restrain her tears, and Mr. Palma shaded his eyes with his hand.

“My little girl, make your choice.  Decide between us.”

She moved a few steps, as if to free herself, but in rain; Regina’s arms tightened around her.

“Between you?  Oh no, I cannot.  Both are too dear.”

“To whom does your heart cling most closely?”

“Mother, ask me no more.  There is my hand.  If you can consent to give it to him.  I shall be—­oh, how happy!  If it would grieve you too much, then, mother, hold it, keep it.  I will never murmur or complain, for now, knowing that he loves me, I can bear almost anything.”

Tears were streaming down the mother’s cheeks, and pressing her lips to the white mournful face of her daughter she beckoned Mr. Palma to her side.  For a moment she hesitated, held up the fair fingers and kissed them, then as if distrusting herself, quickly laid the little hand in his.

“Take my darling; and remember that she is the most precious gift a miserable mother ever yielded up.”

After a moment Mrs. Laurance whispered something, and very won the lovely face flushed a brilliant rose, the soft tender eyes were lifted timidly to Mr. Palma’s face, and as he drew her to aim, she glided from her mother’s arms into his, feeling his lips rest like a blessing from God on her pure brow.

“Does my Lily love me best?”

Only the white arms answered his whisper, clasping his neck; and Mrs. Laurance and Mr. Chesley left them, with the dewy roses overhead swinging like censers in the glorious autumn morning and the sacred chimes of church bells dying in silvery echoes, among the olive and myrtle that clothed the distant hills.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

In consenting to bestow Regina’s hand on Mr. Palma, Mrs. Laurance had stipulated that the marriage should be deferred for one year, alleging that her daughter was yet very young, and having been so long separated she wished her to remain with her at least for some months.  Mr. Palma reluctantly assented to conditions which compelled him to return to America without Regina, and in November Mrs. Laurance removed to Milan, where she desired that her child’s fine voice and musical talent should be trained and developed by the most superior instruction.

Swiftly the twelve months sped away, and in revisiting the Mediterranean shores, linked by so many painful reminiscences with the period of her former sojourn, Mrs. Laurance, despite the efforts of her faithful and fond companion, seemed to sink into a confirmed melancholy.

By tacit agreement no reference was ever made to her past life, but a shadow chill and unlifting brooded over her, and the sleeplessness that no opiate could conquer—­a sleeplessness born of heart-ache which no spell could narcotize—­robbed her cheek of its bloom, and left weary lines on her patient, hopeless face.