Berthold’s word was sacred, and the old man drew from his pocket an oval case of blue velvet, ornamented with pearls.

“Here, look, and be quick; I fear some one may come; and if, if I should die, Berthold, take this and keep it forever.”

“I will,” said the faithful boy, as he unclasped the case.

Was he dreaming?  There, before him, was the same; yes, the very same fair face he saw in the mist.  He could not take his eyes from the picture, so strange was the spell.

“I have seen this face to-night, grandfather,” said Berthold, going close to him, and laying his hand upon his brow.

“Seen what! seen her?  Sibyl!  O, God, she must have died.”

He sank back exhausted on his pillow.

“Did it-did she speak?” he gasped, as he revived.

“Yes.  She said, ‘Tell Milan I forgive him!’”

“Berthold, Laura, quick!  O come,—­my breath is go-.  I—­am—­dy—.”

He, too, was gone; gone before his wife could be summoned; gone to meet one he had so greatly wronged, perhaps to learn of her beautiful truths, which her sad life experience had taught her; and perchance to woo her soul, this time with truth and love.

Berthold kept the miniature, and when, after a few months, the club met again, confirmed the truth of the story he had startled them with that night.  He could never account for the lowly cot, and the old wrinkled woman, but he remembered his grandfather’s dying words, and never wooed where he knew he could not give his heart and soul; nor was his vision ever again unfolded, but one of heaven’s choicest, purest women was given him to love, and in her high and spiritual life, his soul grew to sense that which by sight he could not obtain.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Three years had swept by, with their lights and shadows, bringing no change to the house of Mr. Wyman, save the daily unfolding of Dawn’s character, and the deepening happiness of all.

Mr. Wyman had promised Dawn that when she was eighteen he would take her to Europe.

Miss Vernon passed her time very happily, dividing it between teaching, study, and labor, and found herself improving daily, both spiritually and physically; indeed, such a change had come over her whole nature, that she could scarce believe herself the same being that entered Mr. Wyman’s home, three years previous.  Life opened daily to her such rich opportunities for usefulness and growth, that no day seemed long enough to execute her plans.

Mr. Temple, whom the reader will remember as one of the guests of the party, came often to Mr. Wyman’s, and soon found himself greatly interested in Miss Vernon.

It was a new experience to her to contrast him with Hugh, and to learn to analyze the new feeling which suffused her being,—­that deep, undercurrent which lies beneath all surface emotions and interests, namely, Love.