d soon crossed
it.

Hortense, who for some time had been on the move ordering supper, and
was now clearing the little table of some books, etc., to make room for
the tray, called Robert's attention to the glass of flowers, the carmine
and snow and gold of whose petals looked radiant indeed by candlelight.

"They came from Fieldhead," she said, "intended as a gift to you, no
doubt. We know who is the favourite there; not I, I'm sure."

It was a wonder to hear Hortense jest--a sign that her spirits were at
high-water mark indeed.

"We are to understand, then, that Robert is the favourite?" observed
Louis.

"Mon cher," replied Hortense, "Robert--c'est tout ce qu'il y a de plus
precieux au monde; a cote de lui le reste du genre humain n'est que du
rebut.--N'ai-je pas raison, mon enfant?" she added, appealing to
Caroline.

Caroline was obliged to reply, "Yes," and her beacon was quenched. Her
star withdrew as she spoke.

"Et toi, Robert?" inquired Louis.

"When you shall have an opportunity, ask herself," was the quiet answer.
Whether he reddened or paled Caroline did not examine. She discovered
that it was late, and she must go home. Home she would go; not even
Robert could detain her now.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF DEATH.

The future sometimes seems to sob a low warning of the events it is
bringing us, like some gathering though yet remote storm, which, in
tones of the wind, in flushings of the firmament, in clouds strangely
torn, announces a blast strong to strew the sea with wrecks; or
commissioned to bring in fog the yellow taint of pestilence covering
white Western isles with the poisoned exhalations of the East, dimming
the lattices of English homes with the breath of Indian plague. At other
times this future bursts suddenly, as if a rock had rent, and in it a
grave had opened, whence issues the body of one that slept. Ere you are
aware you stand face to face with a shrouded and unthought-of
calamity--a new Lazarus.

Caroline Helstone went home from Hollow's Cottage in good health, as she
imagined. On waking the next morning she felt oppressed with unwonted
languor. At breakfast, at each meal of the following day, she missed all
sense of appetite. Palatable food was as ashes and sawdust to her.

"Am I ill?" she asked, and looked at herself in the glass. Her eyes were
bright, their pupils dilated, her cheeks seemed rosier, and fuller than
usual. "I look well; why can I not eat