red for her--

"No, why should Lina be disturbed? Send Mrs. Harrington's maid," and
with a gentle wave of the hand which forbade all farther conversation,
the general led his wife from the room.

CHAPTER XII.

LOVE DREAMS.

Lina had slept sweetly through all this turmoil of the elements and of
human passions. Beautifully as a dove she lay in her pretty white bed,
with its snowy curtains brooding over her like summer clouds above
opening roses. A night-lamp of pale alabaster shed its soft moonlight
through the room, and when bursts of thunder shook the heavens, and the
lightning flashed and gleamed around the single Gothic casement of her
chamber, it only gave to this pearly light a golden tinge, and made Lina
smile more dreamily in her happy slumber.

She was abroad upon the hills again, and in sleep lived over the bright
hours that never return, save in dreams, to any human soul.

She had left Ralph in the hall, and hoarding up her new found happiness
she stole away to her room, kindled the alabaster lamp that no broader
light should look upon her blushes, and sat down lost in a trance of
thought. She veiled her eyes even from the pure light around her, and
started covered with blushes, when the happiness flooding her soul broke
in murmurs to her lips.

She longed to speak over his name, to whisper the words with which he
had blessed her, and ponder over and over the tone of those words. She
was bewildered and astonished by her own happiness. Now she longed to
steal into Mrs. Harrington's presence, and tell her of the great joy
that had fallen upon her life, but the first motion to that effect
brought the blushes to her cheeks, and made her cover them with both
hands, like a child who strives to hide the shame of some innocent joy.

At last she began to undress, softly and bashfully, as if she had found
some new value in her own beauty. Her hands lingered fondly among the
tresses of her hair, and gathering them up beneath her pretty
Valenciennes cap, she smiled to see its gossamer shadows fall upon her
forehead, giving the whole face a Madonna-like purity.

With a gentle sigh, she pillowed herself upon the couch, and looked up
through the cloud of snowy lace that overshadowed it with a wistful
smile, as if she expected to see stars break through, revealing new
glimpses of the Heaven already dawning in her young life.

Thus cradled in her own happiness, like a lily with its cup full of dew,
she laid