etters from Mrs.
Lindsay, furnishing the sorrowful details of the last illness of the
minister, and the dying words of tender devotion to the young girl
whom he believed his betrothed bride.

Over these harrowing letters she had wept long and bitterly, accusing
herself continually of her unworthiness in allowing another image to
usurp the throne where the missionary should have reigned supreme;
and the only consolation afforded was in the reflection that Douglass
had died believing her faithful, happy in the perfect trust reposed
in her. He had been buried on a sunny slope of the cemetery not far
from the blue waves of the Pacific, and his mother remained in San
Francisco with her sister, in whose house Mr. Lindsay had quietly
breathed his life away, dying as he had lived, full of hope in Christ
and trust in God.

Mrs. Palma and Olga only knew that Regina had lost a dear friend whom
she had not seen for years, and none but her guardian understood the
nature of the sacred tie that bound them.

Day and night she was haunted by memories of the kind face never more
to be seen this side of the City of Peace, and when at length she
received a photograph taken after death, in which, wan and emaciated,
he seemed sleeping soundly, she felt that her life could never again
be quite the same, and that the grey shadowy wings of Regret drooped
low over her future pathway.

Accompanying the photograph was a brief yet loving note written by
Mr. Lindsay the evening before his death; and to it were appended the
lines from "Jacqueline":

"Nor shall I leave thee wholly. I shall be--
An evening thought,--a morning dream to thee,--
A silence in thy life, when through the night,
The bell strikes, or the sun with sinking light,
Smites all the empty windows. As there sprout
Daisies, and dimpling tufts of violets, out
Among the grass where some corpse lies asleep,
So round thy life, where I lie buried deep,
A thousand little tender thoughts shall spring,
A thousand gentle memories wind and cling."

As if the opal were a talisman against the revival of reflections
that seemed an insult to the dead, Regina wore the ring constantly;
and whenever a thrill warned her of the old madness, her right hand
caressed the jewels, seeking from their touch a renewal of strength.

Studiously she manoeuvred to avoid even casual meetings with her
guardian, and except at the table, and