n her lap, and taking his hat, walked away toward
town.

For some time she remained just as Russell had left her; then the white
arms and dry eyes were raised to the midnight sky.

"My God! my God! strengthen me in my desolation!"

She put back the folds of hair that, damp with dew, clung to her gleaming
temples, and recrossing the wide road or street, approached the chamber of
death.

Irene met at the door Dr. Arnold's buggy.

"Irene, are you ready to go home?"

"Yes. Mrs. Davis is dead."

"As I was leaving Mrs. Churchill's, your father told me where you were, and
I thought I would come after you. Put on your shawl and jump in. You are in
a pretty plight, truly, to stand over a deathbed! 'Vanity of vanities! all
is vanity!' Here, let me wrap that gauze cloud around your head. Now then!"

The top of the buggy had been lowered, and as they rode homeward she leaned
her head back, turning her face to the sickly moonlight.

They went into the house, and as he filled and lighted his pipe, his
cavernous eyes ran curiously over her.

"How you have blazed to-night! Your diamonds are superb."

"Yes, sir."

"Go to sleep at once, child. You look as if you had seen a ghost. What has
knotted up your forehead in that style?"

"I have looked upon a melancholy death to-night, and have seen two helpless
children orphaned. Come and see me soon; I want to consult you about an
orphan asylum for which father has given me a lot. Good night, sir; I am
very much obliged to you for your kindness in bringing me home. Nobody else
is half so considerate and thoughtful."

In her own room she took off the jewels, withered violets and moist
_tulle_--and drawing on her dressing-gown, went up to the observatory, and
sat down on the threshold of one of the glass doors looking eastward.

"Think of a man who laughs at his own idiocy, and strives to forget that he
ever believed there lived one woman who would be true to her own heart,
though the heavens fell and the world passed away!"

These words of scorn were the burning shares over which her bare feet trod,
and his bitter accents wailed up and down her lonely heart. Through the
remainder of that cloudless night she wrestled silently. At last, when the
sky flushed rosily, like an opal smitten with light, and holy
Resignation--the blessing born only of great trial like hers--shed its
heavenly chrism over the worn and weary, bruised and bleeding spirit, she
gathered up the mangled hopes