“I am going to the quiet little town of B—­, to remain for an indefinite period with some dear friends, relatives of my dear Edward, who have just returned from Europe.  I had a letter from them yesterday, saying they were all safe at home, and should be looking for me next week.”

“Then all my plans must fail.”

“As far as having me here for so long a time; but how I wish you could know Ralph and Marion, Dawn.-Why, what is the matter; what is it, dear Dawn?”

“Nothing but a sharp pain.  It’s all over now.  Were your friends in-in Paris last month?” her voice trembled as she spoke.

“Yes.  But how pale you look.  Dawn, you must be ill.”

“I am not.  I did not sleep well last night.  But Pearl, I have seen your friends.”

“Seen them; seen Ralph?” exclaimed Miss Weston, in joyous surprise.  “Is his not a fine character?  And Marion, his sister, is she not lovely?”

“I know them but little.  They were at a hotel in Frankfort, where we stopped.  I first met them there, and again in Paris, twice, accidentally.”

“How strange,” continued Miss Weston.  “Will they not be greatly surprised when I tell them I know you?”

Dawn laid her hand heavily on her friend’s shoulder, saying: 

“Miss Weston, I have my reasons, which sometime I may explain to you, for asking you not to mention my name to any member of that family.”  It was the same bright face which years ago was turned on her with words of consolation; the same childish pleading, for Dawn’s face was a type of her spirit,—­free, innocent and pure.  “Will you promise without an explanation?”

“I will, strange as it seems; but, may I ask you one question, before we leave this subject?”

“Certainly.”

“Has Ralph or Marion ever injured you?”

“Never.  I think very highly of them both.”

The subject was dismissed, and although their words floated to interesting topics, no deep feeling could be experienced by either, for each had become insphered and separate; one pondering, despite her efforts to the contrary, upon the strange request; the other thinking how strangely fate had again approximated lives which, in her present state, she could only see, must be kept apart.

Little did Dawn think she should meet in her own home, one who knew Ralph.  It seemed an indication that she might meet him again, when and where she knew not, but of one thing she was certain, the meeting could not be one of friendship only.  A conflict of emotions pulsed through her being.  She could not converse, and plainly told her friend that she was too abstracted to be companionable.

“Go to Florence,” she said, “and tell her she may have you the rest of the day.  To-morrow—­to-morrow,” she said slowly, “I shall want you, for then I shall be myself.”

CHAPTER XXII.

When Margaret Thorne left N—­, it was with the intention of following the old woman’s warning, and avoiding the stranger.