cion that the meeting was contrived.
Her heart beat fast; a burning heat glowed in her as she thought of her
false hair, her false color, her false dress, and saw the dear familiar
face coming nearer and nearer. They passed each other close. Norah's
dark gentle eyes looked up, with a deeper light in them, with a sadder
beauty than of old--rested, all unconscious of the truth, on her
sister's face--and looked away from it again as from the face of a
stranger. That glance of an instant struck Magdalen to the heart. She
stood rooted to the ground after Norah had passed by. A horror of the
vile disguise that concealed her; a yearning to burst its trammels and
hide her shameful painted face on Norah's bosom, took possession of her,
body and soul. She turned and looked back.

Norah and the two children had reached the higher ground, and were close
to one of the gates in the iron railing which fenced the Park from the
street. Drawn by an irresistible fascination, Magdalen followed them
again, gained on them as they reached the gate, and heard the voices of
the two children raised in angry dispute which way they wanted to walk
next. She saw Norah take them through the gate, and then stoop and speak
to them, while waiting for an opportunity to cross the road. They only
grew the louder and the angrier for what she said. The youngest--a girl
of eight or nine years old--flew into a child's vehement passion, cried,
screamed, and even kicked at the governess. The people in the street
stopped and laughed; some of them jestingly advised a little wholesome
correction; one woman asked Norah if she was the child's mother; another
pitied her audibly for being the child's governess. Before Magdalen
could push her way through the crowd--before her all-mastering anxiety
to help her sister had blinded her to every other consideration, and had
brought her, self-betrayed, to Norah's side--an open carriage passed
the pavement slowly, hindered in its progress by the press of vehicles
before it. An old lady seated inside heard the child's cries, recognized
Norah, and called to her immediately. The footman parted the crowd, and
the children were put into the carriage. "It's lucky I happened to pass
this way," said the old lady, beckoning contemptuously to Norah to
take her place on the front seat; "you never could manage my daughter's
children, and you never will." The footman put up the steps, the
carriage drove on with the children and the governes