st, tinged here and there with the pale pink hue
of an almond blossom, wavered and curled over the quiet lake, and a
robin red-breast, winging his way from the orange and jasmine boughs of
the far sweet South, rested on the ivied wall, and poured out his happy
heart in a salutatory to the rising sun.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"I fear, my sister, that you have made a great mistake in refusing an
offer of marriage, which almost any woman might be proud to accept."

Sister Ruth closed her writing desk, and looked at Beryl over her
spectacles.

"Why should you infer that any such proposal has been made to me?"

"Simply because I know all that has occurred, and my cousin writes me
that you decline to marry him. If you had intended to remain here and
identify yourself with this institution, I could better understand your
motives in rejecting a man who offers you wealth, good looks, a
stainless reputation, an honored name, and the best possible social
position."

"All of which tempt me in no degree. Mr. Brompton is doubtless
everything you consider him; lives in a brown stone palace, is an
influential and respected citizen, but comparatively, we are strangers.
He bought my pictures, took a fleeting fancy to my face, and to my
great surprise, indulged in a romantic whim. What does he comprehend of
my past? How little he understands the barrier that shuts me out from
the lot of most women."

"He is fully acquainted with every detail of your life that has been
confided to me, or discovered by the public; and he has studied and
admired you ever since you came to dwell among us. In view of your very
peculiar history, you must admit that his affection is certainly
strong. If you married him, your past would be effectually blotted out."

"I have no desire to blot it out, and though misfortune overshadowed my
name, it is the untarnished legacy my father left me, and I hold it
very sacred; wrap it as a mantle about me. When suspicion of any form
of disgrace falls upon a woman, it is as though some delicate flower
had been thrust too close to a scorching fire; and no matter how
quickly or how far removed, no matter how heavy the dews that empearl
it, how fresh and cool the wind that sweeps over it, how bright the sun
that feeds its pulses,--the curled petals are never smoothed, the hot
blasts leaves its ineffaceable blight. To me, the thought of marriage
comes no more than to one who knows death sits waiting only for the
settin