the library with buoyant steps and a light heart; aye,
even a little snatch of song on her lips, for she had made up her mind
that she would wait there until Harry came and have a good talk with
him.

She had been so sure that he would take her in his arms and soothe away
her fears, laughing at them in his own way as being the most ridiculous
fancies which her sensitive little brain had conjured up.

And ah! how different had been the reality.

He had rudely repulsed her--and she his promised wife! Katy noticed how
gloomy she was, and ran quickly to her young mistress' side.

"Oh, Miss Dorothy," she cried, "you do look so pale. Let me place you in
a chair and bring you some wine."

Dorothy shook her head.

"I am not ill, Katy," she said, wearily, "only I--I have a slight
headache. If you will leave me by myself I will take a short rest if I
can, then I shall be all right."

But Katy insisted upon bringing her a cordial, if not the wine, and
surely she was forgiven for putting a few drops of a sleeping potion in
the glass ere she handed it to her mistress. She well knew that she had
not slept soundly for some time past.

Surely she was breaking down slowly from some terrible mental strain.
She realized but too well what that mental strain was.

Dorothy allowed her to lead her passively to the sofa, and to deposit
her among the cushions.

"You will ring when you want me, Miss Dorothy," she said, placing a
table with a bell on it close by her side.

"Yes," said Dorothy, wearily. "Now go and leave me, that's a good girl;"
and Katy passed into the next apartment, drawing the curtains softly
behind her. There she sat down and waited until her mistress should fall
asleep. It almost made the girl's heart bleed to hear the great sighs
that broke from Dorothy's lips.

"Poor soul! poor soul!" she cried; "how unhappy she is!"

But soon the potion began to take effect, and the sighs soon melted into
deep, irregular breathing, and then Katy knew that she slept.

An hour passed, and yet another, still she did not waken, though there
were loud sounds of mirth and revelry in the drawing-room beneath. The
maid recognized Iris' voice and that of Harry Kendal.

"The grand rascal!" muttered the girl; "how I feel like choking that
man! He doesn't care any more for that poor blind girl in there, that
he's engaged to, than the dust which sticks to his patent leather shoes.
I believe the truth is slowly beginning to dawn upon