h melancholy facts which charity prevented her from
divulging.

Many of the grievances and ills that afflict society spring not from
sinful, envenomed hearts, but from weak souls and empty heads; and
Mrs. Spiewell, who sat up with all the measle-stricken, teething, sick
children in her husband's charge, and would have felt disgraced had
she missed a meeting of the "Dorcas Society," or of the "Barefeet
Relief Club," would have been duly shocked if any one had boldly
charged her with slandering a woman whom she had never seen, and of
whose antecedents she knew absolutely nothing. Verily, it is
difficult, indeed, even for "the elect" to keep themselves "unspotted
from the world;" and Zimmerman was a seer when he declared, "Who lives
with wolves must join in their howls."

Absorbed by professional engagements, or fiscal cares, the gentlemen
of a community are rarely interested in or informed of the last wreck
of character which the whirlpool of scandal strews on the strand of
society; but vague rumors relative to Mrs. Gerome's isolation had
penetrated even into the quiet precincts of Dr. Grey's sanctum, and
consequently invested his present mission with extraneous interest.

For the first time since her arrival he approached the confines of
her residence, and, as he threw the reins over the dashboard of his
buggy and stood under the lofty old trees that surrounded the house,
he paused to admire the beauty of the grounds, the grouping of some
statues and pot plants on a neighboring mound, and the far-stretching
sheen of the rippling sea.

No living thing was visible except a golden pheasant and scarlet
flamingo strutting along the stone terrace at the foot of the lawn,
and silence and repose seemed brooding over house and yard; when
suddenly a rapid, passionate, piano-prelude smote the stillness till
the air appeared to throb and quiver, and a thrillingly sweet yet
intensely mournful voice sang the wailing strains of _Addio del
Passato_.

The indescribable yet almost overwhelming pathos of the tones affected
Dr. Grey much as the tremolo-stop in some organ-overture in a
dimly-lighted cathedral; and, as the singer seemed to pour her whole
aching heart and wearied soul into the concluding "_Ah! tutto-tutto
fini!_" he turned, and involuntarily followed the sound, like one in a
dream.

The front door was closed; but the sash of the oriel window had been
raised, and through the delicate lace curtains that were swaying in