f, Miss Katrine. Remember the night in Paris, when the
world hung on your voice! Think of the afternoon when the greatest
queen on earth kissed ye, after ye'd sung to her, with dukes and other
creatures standin' round admirin'! Think that, if your voice fails ye
to-night because of excitement and worry, it may be a check on your
whole career! Think of the beautiful clothes laid out for ye to wear,
and judge if it's worth while taking chances for a man who flung ye away
like a worn-out glove!"

"Oh, Nora!" cried Katrine, reproachfully, "how can any one think of a
voice in a time like this?"

As Katrine entered, Mrs. Ravenel turned from the fire by which she was
standing and came toward her with outstretched hands.

Her eyes were red with weeping, and there was a hurried, despairing note
in her voice as she spoke. "Katrine Dulany," she said, "I've come to you
for help." Years of thought could not have given her better words, and
the strong, young hands enfolded the cold ones of the suffering mother.

"If there is anything I can do for you, I will do it, oh, so gladly!"
Katrine answered.

"Frank is very"--Mrs. Ravenel hesitated, as though lacking courage to
speak her fears--"perhaps dangerously ill. For nearly two months the
trouble has been coming on--ever since he was at the Van Rensselaers'.
When he came back to me in North Carolina he had changed. He seemed
struggling to throw off some heavy burden. His old gayety was gone, and
he was always going to Marlton to look for records or asking me for more
of his father's papers. At times he seemed half distracted, and would
sit looking at me with brooding eyes with pity in them. But when he came
back from Europe, just two weeks ago to-day"--the poor lady's voice was
choked with sobs, and Katrine put a supporting arm around her with
beautiful tenderness as she waited for her to continue--"he looked so
ill I cried out at first sight of him. And he does not care to live! I
can't make it out. It's not the money trouble. Money could never worry
Frank. He cares too little for it! Last week," she went on, her voice
losing itself in sobs, "Anne Lennox wrote me of your being at the Van
Rensselaers', and of its being said there that Frank had asked you to
marry him and that you had refused. Then I remembered that he told me,
three years ago, of loving some one very greatly. Last night he became
delirious, and in the fever he called your name over and over again,
crying always, 'O