f her love, as Bertram was of
Lady Geraldine's."

This suggestion, born in the under-current of her thoughts, floated
constantly to the surface awaiting confirmation. If her belief were
well-grounded, one step was taken toward fathoming the secret which
Madeleine had doubtless some motive for preserving, but which Mrs.
Walton's sympathies with Maurice made her earnestly desire to bring to
light. Madeleine might have conceived a passion for one whom she would
never more meet, or for one who was unconscious of her preference,
though that seemed hardly possible.

Under ordinary circumstances Mrs. Walton would have been one of the last
persons to take an active part in searching out the hidden springs of
any human actions; but she was so deeply interested, both in Maurice and
Madeleine, that a strong desire to be of service to them made her break
one of the rules of her life. A wise rule, perhaps, so far as it frees
one from responsibility, yet a rule which generous and impulsive spirits
will often disregard in the hope of wafting into a drooping sail some
favorable breeze that will send the ship toward a wished-for port.

It chanced the very next day, when Mrs. Walton was visiting Madeleine,
that the latter was summoned away, and as she left the room, she said,--

"I will not be long absent; here are books with which I hope you can
amuse yourself."

They had been sitting in Madeleine's boudoir; Mrs. Walton's chair was
close to Madeleine's desk; upon the desk lay several volumes, probably
those which had been last in use. Mrs. Walton made a haphazard
selection, and took up a little sketch-book. Her interest was quickly
awakened when she found that it contained sketches which were doubtless
Madeleine's own. There was the chateau of Count Tristan de Gramont at
Rennes, and the memorable little _chalet_--the chateau of the Marquis de
Merrivale, and sketches of other localities in her native land, of which
she had thus preserved the memory. Then followed fancy groups, composed
of various figures, apparently illustrative of scenes from books; but
Mrs. Walton could not be certain of the unexplained subjects.

One familiar face struck her,--a most perfect likeness of Maurice,--it
was unmistakable. Prominent in every group, though in different
attitudes and costumes, was that one figure. Maurice,--still Maurice,
throughout the book. Mrs. Walton was pondering upon this singular
discovery when Madeleine entered.

She flushed c