ht, and look into the life that was dawning for her, by its
solemn light. Richard Gilbert's wife! How strange and unreal that
seemed. She liked him very much as she might have liked an indulgent
elder brother, but love him--no! She might have deluded herself into
thinking so, had Laurence Thorndyke's splendid image never dazzled her.
She knew better now--the knowledge had come upon her all at once,
transforming her from a child to a woman.

"If I had never met him," she thought, "I might have been a happy wife,
but now! Now can I ever learn to forget him, and to give Mr. Gilbert his
place?"

She covered her face with her hands, alone as she was. Alas for Richard
Gilbert! congratulating himself at that very moment on having won for
his very own the fairest, the sweetest, the truest of her sex.

Miss Bourdon sat mournfully musing there until long past bedtime, long
past midnight. Moonlight and starlight paled presently, the prospect
grew gloomy, the air bitter cold, and shivering and miserable, the girl
crept away to bed. Even then she could not sleep--her nerves were all
unstrung and on edge. She lay broad awake trying to imagine what her
life would be like as Mr. Gilbert's wife. The fairy world of her dreams
and her books would open to her. Costly dresses and jewels, a fine house
in New York, her carriage and servants, summer travel and winter
balls--all this he had promised her. And there in the midst of it all,
once again she would meet Laurence Thorndyke. It would be part of the
romance, she as the wife, he as the husband of another, and the weak
silly heart fluttering under the bedclothes, gave a great bound. Then
she remembered that it would be wicked to wish to see him--a sin to be
happy in his presence; but do what she would, the hope of meeting him
again, was at the bottom of her willingness to become the lawyer's wife.

When Norine descended to breakfast next morning, she found Mr. Gilbert
standing in the open doorway, looking out at the frosty sunshine. He
came forward to meet her, his face suddenly radiant.

"I have been waiting to waylay you," he said, smiling, "I want you to
let me tell your uncle to-day."

"You are in a hurry," Norine answered, rather impatiently.

"Yes, my darling. Why should I not be? And I return to New York early
next week. You say yes--do you not, Norine?"

She smiled, and gave him her hand. She had said "yes" to a more
important proposition, he had been very good to her, why