of early rising she still adhered, and in the
dewy hours spent alone in watching the sun rise over Como she
indulged precious recollections that found audience and favour at no
other season.

It was her habit to place each morning a fresh bouquet upon her
mother's plate, and also to arrange the flower stand, that since
their residence at the villa had never failed to grace the centre of
the breakfast-table.

It was a parsonage custom, and had always been associated in her mind
with the pastor's solemn benediction at each meal.

To-day, while filling her basket with blossoms, some stray waft of
perfume, or perhaps the rich scarlet lips of a geranium glowing
against the grey stone of the wall, prattled of Fifth Avenue, and
recalled a gay _boutonniere_ she once saw Mrs. Carew fasten in Mr.
Palma's coat.

Like a serpent this thought trailed over all, and the beauty of the
morning suddenly vanished. Was that grey-eyed Cleopatra with
burnished hair, low smooth brow, and lips like Lamia's, resting in
her guardian's arms--his wife?

Three months had elapsed since the day on which Mr. Chesley received
his last letter, containing tidings that bowed and broke the haughty
spirit of Mrs. Laurance; and if Mr. Palma had written again, Regina
had not been informed of the fact.

Was he married, and in his happiness as a husband had he for a time
forgotten the existence of the friends in Europe?

A shadowy hopelessness settled in the girl's eyes when she reflected
that this was probably the correct explanation of his long silence,
and a deep yearning to see him once more rose in her sad heart. She
knew that it was better so, with the Atlantic between them; and yet
it seemed hard, bitter, to think of living out the coming years, and
never looking upon him again.

A heavy sigh crossed her lips that were beginning to wear the patient
lines of resignation, and turning from the red geranium which had
aroused the memory coiled in her heart she stepped upon the terrace,
leaned over the marble balustrade, and looked out.

The sun was up, and in the verdant setting of its shore the lake
seemed a huge sapphire, girdled with emerald.

In the distance a fishing boat glided slowly, its taut sails gleaming
as the sunlight smote them, like the snowy pinions of some vast bird
brooding over the quiet water; and high in the air, just beneath a
strip of orange cloud as filmy as lace, a couple of happy pigeons
circled round and round, each ti