little mouse familiar to her chamber--an
intruder for which she would never permit Fanny to lay a trap--came
rattling amongst the links of her locket-chain, her one ring, and
another trinket or two on the toilet-table, to nibble a bit of biscuit
laid ready for it, she looked up, recalled momentarily to the real. Then
she said half aloud, as if deprecating the accusation of some unseen and
unheard monitor, "I am not cherishing love dreams; I am only thinking
because I cannot sleep. Of course, I know he will marry Shirley."

With returning silence, with the lull of the chime, and the retreat of
her small untamed and unknown _protege_, she still resumed the dream,
nestling to the vision's side--listening to, conversing with it. It
paled at last. As dawn approached, the setting stars and breaking day
dimmed the creation of fancy; the wakened song of birds hushed her
whispers. The tale full of fire, quick with interest, borne away by the
morning wind, became a vague murmur. The shape that, seen in a moonbeam,
lived, had a pulse, had movement, wore health's glow and youth's
freshness, turned cold and ghostly gray, confronted with the red of
sunrise. It wasted. She was left solitary at last. She crept to her
couch, chill and dejected.

CHAPTER XIV.

SHIRLEY SEEKS TO BE SAVED BY WORKS.

"Of course, I know he will marry Shirley," were her first words when she
rose in the morning. "And he ought to marry her. She can help him," she
added firmly. "But I shall be forgotten when they _are_ married," was
the cruel succeeding thought. "Oh! I shall be wholly forgotten! And
what--_what_ shall I do when Robert is taken quite from me? Where shall
I turn? _My_ Robert! I wish I could justly call him mine. But I am
poverty and incapacity; Shirley is wealth and power. And she is beauty
too, and love. I cannot deny it. This is no sordid suit. She loves
him--not with inferior feelings. She loves, or _will_ love, as he must
feel proud to be loved. Not a valid objection can be made. Let them be
married, then. But afterwards I shall be nothing to him. As for being
his sister, and all that stuff, I despise it. I will either be all or
nothing to a man like Robert; no feeble shuffling or false cant is
endurable. Once let that pair be united, and I will certainly leave
them. As for lingering about, playing the hypocrite, and pretending to
calm sentiments of friendship, when my soul will be wrung with other
feelings, I shall not descend to s