, Anna?" the man asked, and looking gravely into
her eyes. "Was there no one among your guests to-night, who--"

"Who--what--!" she cried, as he faltered and stopped.

"Was there no one present who made you think of--of some one whom
you--have known in the--the past?"

"Ha! do you refer to Mrs. Stewart?" said madam. "Did you also notice
the--resemblance?"

"Could any one help it?--could any one ever mistake those eyes?
Anna--she was Isabel herself!"

"No--no!" she panted wildly, "she may be some relative. Are you losing
your mind? Isabel is--dead."

"She lives!"

"I tell you no! I--saw her dead."

"You? How could that be possible?" exclaimed Mr. Goddard, in
astonishment. "We were both in Florence at the time of that tragedy."

"Nevertheless, I saw her dead and in her coffin," persisted his
companion, with positive emphasis.

"Now you talk as if you were losing your mind," he answered, with
white lips.

"I am not. Do you not remember I told you one morning, I was going to
spend a couple of days with a friend at Fiesole?"

"Yes."

"Well, I had read of that tragedy that very day, and then hid the
paper, but I did not go to Fiesole at all. I took the first train for
Rome."

"Anna!"

"I wanted to be sure," she cried, excitedly. "I was jealous of her,
I--hated her; and I knew that if the report was true I should be at
rest. I went to the place where they had taken her. Some one had cared
for her very tenderly--she lay as if asleep, and looked like a
beautiful piece of sculpture in her white robe; one could hardly
believe that she was--dead. But they told me they were going to--to
bury her that afternoon unless some one came to claim her. They asked
me if I had known her--if she was a friend of mine. I told them
no--she was nothing to me; I had simply come out of curiosity, having
seen the story of her tragic end in a paper. Then I took the next
train back to Florence."

"Why have you never told me this before, Anna?" Gerald Goddard
inquired, with lips that were perfectly colorless, while he laid his
hand upon the back of a chair for support.

"Why?" she flashed out jealously at him. "Why should I talk of her to
you? She was dead--she could never come between us, and I wished to
put her entirely out of my mind, since I had satisfied myself of the
fact."

"Did--did you hear anything of--of--"

"Of the child? No; all I ever knew was what you yourself read in the
paper--that both mother and child had d