spected this, my dear."

"Oh, you must not talk so," answered Crystal, in a tone of poignant
distress; "you do not know; you can not understand. Oh, it is all so
sad. I owe him everything. My ideal, oh, yes; whom have I ever seen
who could compare with him--so strong, so gentle, so forgiving? Oh,
you must never let me talk of him; it breaks my heart."

"Come away, Margaret," whispered Raby, hoarsely, in her ear. "I have
no right to hear this; it is betraying my darling's confidence. Take
me away, for I can not trust myself another moment; and it is
late--too late to speak to her to-night."

"Hush! they are going in; we must wait a moment. Crystal is crying,
and that kind creature is comforting her. We did not mean to listen,
Raby; but it was not safe to move away from the trees."

"You heard what she said, Margaret--her ideal. Heaven bless her sweet
innocence; she is as much a child as ever. Do I look like any woman's
ideal now, Margaret. I always think of those lines in 'Aurora Leigh,'
when I imagine myself

"'A mere bare blind stone in the blaze of day,
A man, upon the outside of the earth,
As dark as ten feet under, in the grave,--
Why that seemed hard.'

And yet, she really said it; her ideal. Ah, well! A woman's pity
sometimes makes her mad. What do you say, Maggie?"

"That you are, and that you ever have been Crystal's ideal." And after
that they walked back in silence.

"You and I will go again to-morrow morning," Raby said to her as they
parted for the night; and Margaret assented.

Raby had a wakeful night, and slept a little heavily toward morning.

Margaret had already finished her breakfast when he entered the long
dining-room, and one of the black waiters guided him to his place.
Raby wondered that she did not join him as usual to read his letters
to him, and make plans for their visit; but a few minutes later she
joined him in walking dress, and sat down beside him.

"Have you finished your breakfast, Raby?" And, as he answered in the
affirmative, she continued, with a little thrill of excitement in her
sweet voice--"Miss Campion has gone down to the springs--I saw her
pass alone. Crystal is writing letters in the parlor--I saw her. Shall
we come, my dear brother?"

Need she have put the question. Even Charles, the head-waiter, looked
at Mr. Ferrers as he walked down the long room with his head erect. A
grand-looking Englishman, he thought, and who would have imagined he
was blind.