of the
Marechal Niel roses I had gathered from the conservatory--lovely
blossoms, with their dewy pale-gold centres forming perfect cups of
delicious fragrance. These, relieved by a few delicate sprays of the
maiden-hair fern, formed a becoming finish to my simple costume. As I
arrayed myself, and looked at my own reflection in the long mirror, I
smiled out of sheer gratitude. For health, joyous and vigorous,
sparkled in my eyes, glowed on my cheeks, tinted my lips, and rounded
my figure. The face that looked back at me from the glass was a
perfectly happy one, ready to dimple into glad mirth or bright
laughter. No shadow of pain or care remained upon it to remind me of
past suffering, and I murmured half aloud: "Thank God!"

"Amen!" said a soft voice, and, turning round, I saw Zara.

But how shall I describe her? No words can adequately paint the
glorious beauty in which, that night, she seemed to move as in an
atmosphere of her own creating. She wore a clinging robe of the
richest, softest white satin, caught in at the waist by a zone of
pearls--pearls which, from their size and purity, must have been
priceless. Her beautiful neck and arms were bare, and twelve rows of
pearls were clasped round her slender throat, supporting in their
centre the electric stone, which shone with a soft, subdued radiance,
like the light of the young moon. Her rich, dark hair was arranged in
its usual fashion--that is, hanging down in one thick plait, which on
this occasion was braided in and out with small pearls. On her bosom
she wore a magnificent cluster of natural orange-blossoms; and of
these, while I gazed admiringly at her, I first spoke:

"You look like a bride, Zara! You have all the outward signs of
one--white satin, pearls, and orange-blossoms!"

She smiled.

"They are the first cluster that has come out in our conservatory," she
said; "and I could not resist them. As to the pearls, they belonged to
my mother, and are my favourite ornaments; and white satin is now no
longer exclusively for brides. How soft and pretty that Indian crepe
is! Your toilette is charming, and suits you to perfection. Are you
quite ready?"

"Quite," I answered.

She hesitated and sighed. Then she raised her lovely eyes with a sort
of wistful tenderness.

"Before we go down I should like you to kiss me once," she said.

I embraced her fondly, and our lips met with a lingering sisterly
caress.

"You will never forget me, will you?" she as