d things in my own girlhood," she said. "I know what it means,
dear, when temptation comes."

And so at last she calmed her agitation, and helped her to bed, waiting
upon her with the utmost gentleness, saying no word of blame or even of
admonition.

Not till she had gone, did it dawn upon Dinah that this task had probably
been left to Scott, and with the thought a great dread of the morrow came
upon her. Though he had betrayed no hint of displeasure, she felt
convinced that she had incurred it; and all her new-born shyness in his
presence, returned upon her a thousandfold. She did not know how she
would face him when the morning came.

He would not be angry she knew. He would not scold her like Colonel de
Vigne. But yet she shrank from the thought of his disappointment in her
as she had never before shrunk from the Colonel's rebuke. She was sure
that she had forfeited his good opinion for ever, and many and bitter
were the tears that she shed over her loss.

Her thoughts of Eustace were of too confused a nature to be put into
coherent form. The moment they turned in his direction her brain became a
flashing whirl in which doubts, fears, and terrible ectasies ran wild
riot. She lay and trembled at the memory of his strength, exulting almost
in the same moment that he had stooped with such mastery to possess her.
His magnificence dazzled her, deprived her of all powers of rational
judgment. She only realized that she--and she alone--had been singled out
of the crowd for that fiery worship; and it seemed to her that she had
been created for that one splendid purpose.

But always the memory of Scott shot her triumph through with a regret so
poignant as to deprive it of all lasting rapture. She had hurt him, she
had disappointed him; she did not know how she would ever look him in the
eyes again.

Her sleep throughout that last night was broken and unrefreshing, and
ever the haunting strains of _Simple Aveu_ pulsed through her brain like
a low voice calling her perpetually, refusing to be stilled. Only one
night more and she would be back in her home; this glittering, Alpine
dream would be over, never to return. And again she turned on her pillow
and wept. It was so hard, so hard, to go back.

In the morning she arose white-faced and weary, with dark shadows under
her eyes, and a head that throbbed tormentingly. She breakfasted with
Isabel in the latter's room, and was again deeply grateful to her friend
for forbear