herself
on a couch in the recess of the window that overlooked the lake,
desired to be left alone, in the hope of falling asleep.

Stooping to kiss her, Regina said:

"Mother, let me sit by you, and while I fan you gently read the
'Lotos Eaters.' The drowsy rhythm will lull you into that realm of
rest,--

'In which it seemed always afternoon.'

May I?"

"No. To-day your blue eyes would stab my sleep. I will ring when I
want you."

Dropping the filmy lace curtains, in order to lessen the reflection
from the water, Regina softly stole away, and sat down at the window
of the salon, where satin-leaved arums and dainty pearly orchids
embellished the consoles, and fragrant heliotrope and geraniums were
blooming in pots clustered upon the stone balcony outside.

Each day the favourite view of the lake and bending shore line, upon
which she gazed from this spot, developed some new beauty, hidden
hitherto under leafy laurel shadows, or behind the snowy soil of some
fishing-boat, rocking idly upon the azure waves.

Now the burden of her reflections was:

"If we could only spend our lives in this marble haven, away from the
turmoil and feverish confusion of the outside world--forgetting the
past, contented with the society of each other--and shut in with God
and nature, how peaceful the future would be! nay, how happy all
might yet become!"

Sympathy with her mother had forced her to put temporarily aside the
contemplation of her own sorrow, but in secret it preyed upon her
heart; and whenever a letter arrived, she dreaded the announcement of
Mr. Palma's marriage.

His parting allusion to a brief European visit she had by the aid of
her fears interpreted to mean a bridal tour, curtailed by his
business engagements; and though she never mentioned his name when it
could be avoided, she could not hear it casually pronounced by her
uncle or mother, without feeling her heart bound suddenly.

Once, soon after her arrival in Paris, her mother, in reading a
letter from Mr. Palma, glanced at her, and said:

"Your guardian desires me to say, that in your undisguised devotion
to Uncle Orme he presumes he is completely forgotten; but consoles
himself with the reflection, that from time immemorial wards have
been like the Carthaginians--proverbially ungrateful."

Regina made no response, and since then she had received no message.

While she sat gazing over Como, a mirage rose glistening between her
eyes, and