she
sealed with her signet-ring, and directed to Du Meresq. This done, the
restless walk was resumed. Her head was burning, and throbbed almost too
wildly to think. One line seemed ceaselessly to ring in it, that had
mingled with her dreams last night, and recurred with hateful
appropriateness,--

"Once the soul of truth is gone, love's sweet life is o'er."

Contempt of herself for having been so duped added bitterness to these
thoughts. How long and easily had Bertie and Bluebell hoodwinked her to
be on the terms they were, and doubtless had often laughed over her
simplicity and short-sightedness! But Lola had described her in tears,
not smiles; and then Bertie appeared baser than ever. He loved Bluebell,
yet would sacrifice her for Cecil's fortune; for the unhappy girl no
longer believed in his disinterested professions of the day before. No!
she was dark and unlovely, and her rival beautiful, in his favourite
style! And Du Meresq was black and treacherous, as a smothered instinct
had sometimes warned her.

Mrs. Rolleston came to the door and begged her to come down. Lola's
account had startled her. Cecil entreated to be left alone; "she had a
splitting headache, and wished to be quiet;" and on her step-mother
effecting an entrance, the sight of her face left no doubt of the
validity of the excuse.

"Bertie will be so disappointed if he does not see you to-night," cried
she regretfully. A bitter smile, and the reiteration, "I cannot come
down."

"Your hand is burning, child. You are in a fever. What _is_ the matter?"

Cecil coldly withdrew it, in the same somnambulistic manner, and said
she would lie down; and Mrs. Rolleston went out, hurt by her want of
confidence, and much bewildered by many events of that day.

Lola next invaded her, sent by Bertie to entreat for admission. "He only
just wants to come in for a minute, and see how you are."

"I can't see _any one_, my head is too bad; tell Bertie so. I am going to
lock the door, and go to bed."

But she only threw herself on it. The light waned and darkened, and the
moon arose. Then Cecil stole cautiously to the window and watched.
Presently Du Meresq came out alone, and she knew he was on his way to the
boat. He would look up, she was sure, and she entrenched herself behind
the curtain. By the light of the moon she saw his gaze rivet itself on
her window, as though it would pierce the gloom. His face was strangely
pale, and even sad, and her rebellious