to lose their respect by her own voluntary act. But it
was too late to draw back, even if she wished it; her fetters were
forged--she was bound beyond recall.

Sir Ronald Keith had got the desire of his heart--Kate Danton was his
promised wife, and yet he was not quite happy. Are we ever quite happy,
I wonder, when we attain the end for which we have sighed and longed,
perhaps for years? Our imagination is so very apt to paint that desire
of our heart in rainbow-hues, and we are so very apt to find it, when it
comes, only dull gray, after all.

Sir Ronald loved his beautiful and queenly affianced with a changeless
devotion nothing could alter. He had thought her promise to marry him
would satisfy him perfectly; but he had that promise, and he was not
satisfied. He wanted something more--he wanted love in return, although
he knew she did not love him; and he was dissatisfied. It is not exactly
pleasant, perhaps, to find the woman you love and are about to marry as
cold as an iceberg--to see her shrink at your approach, and avoid you on
all possible occasions. It is rather hard, no doubt, to put up with the
loose touch of cold fingers for your warmest caress, and heavy sighs in
answer to your most loving speeches.

Sir Ronald had promised to be content without love; but he was not, and
was huffish and offended, and savagely jealous of Reginald Stanford and
all the hated past.

So the baronet's wooing was on the whole rather gloomy, and depressing
to the spirits, even of the lookers-on; and Kate was failing away once
more to a pale, listless shadow, and Sir Ronald was in a state of
perpetual sulkiness.

But the bridal-cakes and bridal-dresses were making, and the December
days were slipping by, one by one, bringing the fated time near. Miss
Danton still zealously and unweariedly continued her mission of love. No
weather kept her indoors, no pleadings of her future husband were strong
enough to make her give up one visit for his pleasure or accommodation.

"Let me alone, Sir Ronald Keith," she would answer, wearily, and a
little impatiently; "it will not be for long. Let me alone!"

The fever that had swept off so many was slowly dying out. The sick ones
were not so bad or so many now, but that Miss Danton, with a safe
conscience, might have given them up; but she would not. She never
wanted to be alone--she who had been so fond of solitude such a short
time ago. She was afraid of herself--afraid to think--afraid of