ous dwelling was
dull as a wilderness on that particular Sabbath day. Rachael kept her
room; Clara would not make herself agreeable; and he felt it a relief
when night came and took him to the little bijou of a mansion where
Olympia was waiting the advent of her guests.

Hepworth had seen this woman in New York, and knew something of the
fantastic elegance with which she could surround herself; but the house
he entered surpassed anything he had ever seen in that republican city.

Nothing sad or even grave in art or nature was ever permitted to visit
the Queen of Song in her own home. Her servants were expected to be
smiling and cheerful. There was not a sombre corner in her dwelling.

The very hall was a marvel of art; statuettes of snow-white marble, airy
and graceful as stone could be chiselled, seemed ready to escort the
guest into the unique drawing-room beyond.

Delicate bric-a-brac occupied gilded brackets on the walls, or crowded
the statuettes upon the floor; a laughing faun held back the silken
curtain that concealed the entrance to that inner room where the goddess
herself presided; a soft mellow light fell upon these treasures, making
their beauty still more exquisite.

A servant in silver and blue livery admitted Hepworth, and pointed to
the faun, who seemed inviting him forward with a fantastic gesture.

The servant disappeared, his duties ended when the outer door was
opened.

Those who visited Olympia were supposed to know their way to her
presence. Hepworth lingered a moment in the hall. Those beautiful marble
people seemed enticing him to stay, and, for the instant, he felt an
unaccountable reluctance to present himself before the actress; a
feeling of humiliation came upon him that he should be willing to visit
any woman whom the lady of his love could not meet on equal terms. What
right had he there?

This question was almost upon his lips, when a silken rustle made him
hold his breath. It was a young girl, tall, stately, beautiful, coming
down the marble stairs. He was standing near the centre of the floor,
but drew back, step by step, as the girl descended, turning white and
cold, as if there had been some wrong in his admiration of an antique
group in bronze, which occupied a bracket on the wall close by him.

The girl paused, looked toward him, and, after a little hesitation,
crossed the hall.

"Permit me to show you the way," she said. "The servant should not have
left you so."

Hep