e picture of Walter Murie
taken in New York only a few weeks before. Upon the frame was engraved,
"Gabrielle, from Walter." She took it in her hand, and stood for a long
time motionless. Never again, alas! would she look upon that face so
dear to her. Her young heart was already broken, because she was held
fettered and powerless.

At last she put down the portrait, and, sinking into her chair, sat
crying bitterly. Now that she was outcast by her father, to whom she had
been always such a close, devoted friend, her life was an absolute
blank. At one blow she had lost both lover and father. Already Elise had
told her that she had received instructions to pack her trunks. The
thin-nosed Frenchwoman was apparently much puzzled at the order which
Lady Heyburn had given her, and had asked the girl whom she intended to
visit. The maid had asked what dresses she would require; but Gabrielle
replied that she might pack what she liked for a long visit. The girl
could hear Elise moving about, shaking out skirts, in the adjoining
room, and making preparations for her departure on the morrow.

Despondent, hopeless, grief-stricken, she sat before the fire for a long
time. She had locked the door and switched off the light, for it
irritated her. She loved the uncertain light of dancing flames, and sat
huddled there in her big chair for the last time.

She was reflecting upon her own brief life. Scarcely out of the
schoolroom, she had lived most of her days up in that dear old place
where every inch of the big estate was so familiar to her. She
remembered all those happy days at school, first in England, and then in
France, with the kind-faced Sisters in their spotless head-dresses, and
the quiet, happy life of the convent. The calm, grave face of Sister
Marguerite looked down upon her from the mantelshelf as if sympathising
with her pretty pupil in those troubles that had so early come to her.
She raised her eyes, and saw the portrait. Its sight aroused within her
a new thought and fresh recollection. Had not Sister Marguerite always
taught her to beseech the Almighty's aid when in doubt or when in
trouble? Those grave, solemn words of the Mother Superior rang in her
ears, and she fell upon her knees beside her narrow bed in the alcove,
and with murmuring lips prayed for divine support and assistance. She
raised her sweet, troubled face to heaven and made confession to her
Maker.

Then, after a long silence, she struggled again t