distant summit of
Vesuvius like the dying eye of that cruel destiny from which she
fled, the rescued happy woman exulted in the belief that she was at
last sailing through serene seas.

Dreaming of her child, whose pure image hovered in the mirage hope
wove before her--

"She seemed all earthly matters to forget,
Of all tormenting lines her face was clear,
Her wide brown eyes upon the goal were set,
Calm and unmoved as though no foe were near."

CHAPTER XXX.

Since the memorable day of Regina's visit to Central Park many weeks
had elapsed, and one wild stormy evening in March she sat at the
library table writing her translation of a portion of "Egmont."

The storm--now of sleet, now of snow--darkened the air, and the
globes of the chandelier representing Pompeian lamps were lighted
above the oval table, shedding a bright yet mellow glow over the warm
quiet room.

Upon a bronze console stood a terra-cotta jar containing a white
azalea in full bloom, and the fragrance of the flowers breathed like
a benediction on the atmosphere; while in the tall glass beneath Mrs.
Orme's portrait two half-blown snowy camellias nestled amid a fringe
of geranium leaves.

Close to the fire, with her feet upon a Persian patterned cushion,
Olga reclined in the luxurious easy chair that belonged to Mr.
Palma's writing desk, and open on her lap lay a volume entitled "The
Service of the Poor." The former brilliancy of her complexion seemed
to have forsaken her for ever, banished by a settled sallowness; and
she looked thin, feeble, dejected, passing her fingers abstractedly
through the short curling ruddy hair that clustered around her
forehead and upon her neck.

As if weary of the thoughts suggested by her book, she turned and
looked at the figure writing under the chandelier, and by degrees she
realized the change in the countenance, which three months before had
been pure, serene, and bright as a moonbeam.

The keen and prolonged anguish which Regina had endured left its
shadow, faint, vague, but unmistakable; and in the eyes lay gloom,
and around the mouth patient yet melancholy lines, which hinted of a
bitter struggle in which the calm-hearted girl died, and the wiser,
sadder woman was born.

Her grief had been silent but deep for the loss of the dear friend
who symbolized for her all that was noble, heroic, and godly in human
nature; and her suffering was not assuaged by l