er
dreamed. What a transformation is here! Has nature proven false to
herself? Is this a miracle? Are all her laws suspended, that she might
transform, in an instant, a puling trifler into a perfect woman? Not so,
oh! doubter. Not nature is false, but you are yourself ignorant of her
laws. Study Shakspeare; see Gloster woo, and win, the defiant,
revengeful and embittered Lady Anne, and confess in your humility that
it is far more probable that you should err, than that Shakspeare should
be mistaken.

Not many days after the death of M. Marmont, it was agreed by all the
friends of Lucile, that the kind offer extended to her by Pollexfen
should be accepted, and that she should become domiciliated in his
household. He was unmarried, it is true, but still he kept up an
establishment. His housekeeper was a dear old lady, Scotch, like her
master, but a direct contrast in every trait of her character. Her
duties were not many, nor burdensome. Her time was chiefly occupied in
family matters--cooking, washing, and feeding the pets--so that it was
but seldom she made her appearance in any other apartment than those
entirely beneath her own supervision.

The photographer had an assistant in his business, a Chinaman; and upon
him devolved the task of caring for the outer offices.

Courtland, with a small stock of money, and still smaller modicum of
health, left at once for Bidwell's Bar, where he thought of trying his
fortune once more at mining, and where he was well and most cordially
known.

It now only remained to accompany Lucile to her new home, to see her
safely ensconced in her new quarters, to speak a flattering word in her
favor to Pollexfen, and then, to bid her farewell, perhaps forever. All
this was duly accomplished, and with good-bye on my lips, and a
sorrowful sympathy in my heart, I turned away from the closing door of
the photographer, and wended my way homewards.

Mademoiselle Marmont was met at the threshold by Martha McClintock, the
housekeeper, and ushered at once into the inner apartment, situated in
the rear of the gallery.

After removing her veil and cloak, she threw herself into an arm-chair,
and shading her eyes with both her hands, fell into a deep reverie. She
had been in that attitude but a few moments, when a large Maltese cat
leaped boldly into her lap, and began to court familiarity by purring
and playing, as with an old acquaintance. Lucile cast a casual glance at
the animal, and noticed i