aughty
arch of the eyebrows, and the dainty moulding of the faultless nose.

While he glanced from one to the other, she placed a third miniature
beside those in his hand, and he started at sight of a surpassingly
lovely countenance, which recalled the outlines of one that he had
left in his library three hours before, where Miss Dexter sat reading
to Muriel.

"There you have the gods of my old worship,--Edith and Maurice. Can
you wonder at my infatuation?"

She took the pictures, and a derisive smile distorted her lips, as she
looked shiveringly at them, and hastily replaced them on their velvet
cushions. Closing the spring with a convulsive snap, she tossed the
case on the terrace, whence it fell to the grass below; and drew her
blue velvet drapery closer around her.

"Dr. Grey, you know quite enough of human nature to anticipate what
followed. Three days after I met Maurice Carlyle, he swore deathless
devotion to his 'gray-eyed angel,' and offered me his hand. Ah! when
I recall that evening, and think of the words uttered so tenderly, so
passionately, when I summon before me that radiant face, and
listen again to the voice that so utterly bewitched me, the
remembrance maddens me, and I feel a murderous hate of my race
stirring my blood into fierce throbs. With my hands folded in his,
we planned our future, painted visions that made my brain reel,
and when his lips touched my forehead, as sacred seal of our
betrothal, I felt that earth could add nothing to my blessed lot. Of
course Mr. Wright warmly sanctioned my choice, drugging his
conscience with the reflection that if Maurice was extravagant and
inert, my fortune would obviate the necessity of his attending to his
nominal profession, that of the law. The old man insisted, however,
that as I was a mere child, we must defer our marriage two years. Mr.
Carlyle frowned, and vowed he could not live more than twelve months
without his 'peerless prize,' and like any other silly girl, I
believed it as unhesitatingly as I did the lessons from the gospels
that were read to us night and morning. What cloudless days flew
over my young head, during the ensuing month; days wherein I never
tired of kneeling and thanking God for the marvellous blessing of
Maurice Carlyle's love. Life was mantling in a crystal goblet, like
_eau de vie de Dantzic_, and I could not even taste it without
watching the gold sparkles rise and fall and flash; and how could
I dream, then, that the d