r quit
her until we are reconciled."

But Christal declared no power should induce her to meet Olive more.

"Alas! what are we to do?" cried Olive, sorrowfully; and the whole
night, during which she was disturbed by the restless sounds in
Christars room, she lay awake, planning numberless compassionate devices
to soothe and win over this obdurate heart. Something told her they
would not be in vain; love rarely is! When it was almost morning, she
peacefully fell asleep.

It was late when she awoke, and then the house, usually so quiet, seemed
all astir. Hasty feet were passing in all directions, and Mrs. Gwynne's
voice, sharpened and agitated, was heard in the next room. Very soon she
stood by Olive's bed, and told her troubled tale.

Christal had fled! Ere any one had risen, whilst the whole household
must have been asleep, she had effected her escape. It was evidently
done with the greatest ingenuity and forethought. Her door was still
bolted, and she had apparently descended from the window, which was very
low, and made accessible by an espalier. But the flight, thus secretly
accomplished, had doubtless been long arranged and provided for, since
all her money and ornaments, together with most of her attire, had
likewise disappeared. In whatever way the scheme had been planned and
executed, the fact was plain that it had thoroughly succeeded. Christal
was gone; whither, there was at first not a single clue to tell.

But when afterwards her room was searched, they found a letter addressed
to Miss Rothesay. It ran thus:

"I would have killed myself days since, but that I know in so doing, I
should release you from a burden and a pang which I wish to last your
life, as it must mine. Also, had I died, I might have gone to hell, and
there met him whom I hate,--my wicked, wicked father. Therefore I would
not die.

"But I will not stay to be tyrannised over, or insulted by hypocritical
pity. I will neither eat your bread, nor live upon the cowardly charity
of---- the man who is dead. I intend to work for my own maintenance;
most likely, to offer myself as a teacher in the school where I was
brought up. I tell you this plainly; though I tell you, at the same
time, that if you dare to seek me there, or drag me thence.---- But no!
you will be glad to be freed from me forever.

"One thing only I regret; that, in justice to my own mother, I must no
longer think tenderly of _yours_. For yourself all is ended between us.
P