ife."

Bettina thought, but did not say, that she could not love and admire
Miss Sherman, who had made it quite evident to Barbara and herself that
she cared nothing for them, save as they were under the care of Mrs.
Douglas; who had never given them any companionship, or, at least, never
had until during the past week or two, after she had learned that
Barbara was Howard's heiress.

Barbara drew her breath quickly and sharply. Could such a thing as this
be? was this to come? In her mind, Mr. Sumner was consecrated to the
dead Margaret, about whom she had thought so much,--the picture of
whose lovely face she had so often studied,--whose character she had
adorned with all possible graces! She listened, as in a dream, to
Bettina and Malcom. He _should_ not love any one else; or, if he
could--poor Barbara's heart was ruthlessly torn open and revealed unto
her consciousness. She felt that the others must read the tale in her
confused face.

Confused? No, Barbara, it was pale and still, as if a mortal wound had
been given.

Her head reeled, the world grew dark, and it was silence until she heard
Bettina saying frantically:--

"Bab, dear! are you faint? Oh! what is it?"

With an almost superhuman effort Barbara drew herself up and smiled
bravely, with white lips:--

"It is nothing--only a moment's dizziness. It is all over now."

This was what Mr. Sumner saw when he sprang up in alarm, and then in a
moment said: "Everything seems all right now."

But poor Barbara thought nothing could ever be right again. And when
their carriage drew up in the spacious courtyard of their hotel at
Sorrento, and Mr. Sumner, with an unusually bright and eager face, stood
waiting to help her alight, it was a frozen little hand that was put
into his, and he could not win a single glance from the eyes he loved
to watch, and from which he was impatient to learn if it were indeed
well with the owner.

To this day Barbara shudders at the thought or mention of the next four
or five days. And they were such rare days for enjoyment, could she have
forgotten her own heart:--across the blue waters to Capri, with a visit
by the way to the famous Blue Grotto; a whole day in that lovely town,
walking about its winding, climbing streets; the long drive from
Sorrento to quaint Prajano, with, on one hand, towering, rugged
limestone cliffs, to whose rough sides, every here and there, clings an
Italian village, and, on the other, the smiling, wide-sp