arner's room.

"I am not feeling well," she said, motioning Dorothy to a seat. "I
should like you to read to me until I fall asleep. Take any of the books
from the book-case in the library. I have no choice."

The silent little figure in black bowed, and glided out of the room.

It was dusk in the library as she entered it, and while she pondered as
to whether she should call some one to light the gas, to enable her to
read the titles on the volumes, she heard Jack's voice.

But instead of passing, he entered, and proceeded to light the gas. With
a beating heart Dorothy drew still further back, and at that moment
another person entered the room.

"I knew I should find you here, Jack," said a voice that sounded
terribly familiar to the figure in the window hidden by the silken
draperies. "I have come to ask a little favor of you. I hope you will
not find it in your heart to refuse me."

Before the last comer in the room had ceased speaking, Dorothy knew who
it was--Jessie Staples!

A great lump rose in her throat, and her heart beat. She knew that she
should have slipped from her place of concealment and quitted the room,
but she seemed to have been held spell-bound by a power she could not
control. She leaned heavily against the wall and listened with painful
intensity to the conversation that was taking place between her old
lover and Jessie, although she knew that it was wrong for her to do so.

"A favor you would ask of me?" repeated Jack, quickly. "Why, consider it
granted beforehand," he returned, "if it is within my power."

"You are more than kind," murmured Jessie, adding: "The fact is, I have
too painful a headache to attend the opera with you to-night, but I want
you to go and enjoy yourself, and take some young girl in my place. I--I
do not want to mar your happiness for this evening."

"I am quite sorry to seem unkind," he returned, "but really, Jessie, I
beg that you will not ask me to take any one else to the opera, if you
can not go. Although I promised beforehand, I trust you will not hold me
to anything like that. I do not feel inclined to entertain any of your
friends this evening, especially when you are not present. But, really,
Jessie, I think it might do you good to go--the lights, and the music,
and the gay throng, might divert your thoughts from yourself, and act as
a wonderful panacea in banishing your headache."

"No--no!" returned Jessie; "believe me, I shall feel much better at
ho