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"You are not wise," said Astra, with a faint smile; "you should not do homage to a fallen princess.""Succor?" responded Astra, with a mixture of pride and mournfulness,—"from what or whom could acceptable succor come?""Is there no one you can send for,—no relative, no friend, in Berganton, or elsewhere?" he persisted.

�As he talked, the gold faded out of the sky, and the gray twilight shadows crept into the room, turning the pictures on the walls into pale, vague outlines, and giving a wonderful softness to Miss Thane's listening face. Nor did the story end until the pictures had become indistinguishable masses of shadow, and nothing was left of the face but its deep, lustrous eyes. Its owner had not once spoken; and it quite escaped Bergan's notice, in the dimness, that she gave a sudden, violent start when Mrs. Lyte's full name was mentioned."Oh! it is Mr. Arling; he is very welcome." And Coralie, who had seen Bergan two or three times in her father's office, greeted him with marked cordiality, and gave him her small, soft hand.

Not that she suffered very keenly yet. She was too much stunned to realize the extent of her wounds and bruises. She picked herself up, as it were, after the fall and the shock, and walked mechanically homeward. Her strength did not give way until she found herself in her room, shutting her door behind her, and felt what a different being had gone out of it only a little while before.�"He had a genius for the study," replied Bergan.

���

It represented a child, skipping lightly down a flowery slope, trailing a vine behind her. The face was turned so far away from the beholder, as to show only the rounded outline of the youthful cheek and brow, but the figure expressed a wonderful joyousness. In more senses than one, it was plainly, "In the Sunshine;" which title was lightly scratched in the plaster.The night was no longer dark. Here and there, a star looked through the broken clouds, and lighted him to the river's bank, down which he walked slowly; torturing himself, as he went, with that weary after-birth of doubts and questions, which often follows hard upon the accomplishment of a cherished purpose. Had he done well in wedding Carice to the doctor? Had he not done wrong in refusing to listen to Bergan, at least with courtesy and calmness? Was it barely possible that there could have been some small grain of truth at the bottom of the young man's turbid story? What was the meaning of that odd, wild look in Carice's eyes? Had he been thrusting himself, as it were, into the awful place of Providence, only, by reason of his human short-sightedness, to work irremediable ruin?

�"Having found you, my little cousin, my art sister," said she, smiling, "I shall never let you go!"�

"I accept your offer," said she. "Something tells me that the time will come when I can repay you in degree, if not in kind."��

"It is certainly very strange," replied Doctor Gerrish, gravely.��

��The negroes caught hold of him, expecting a fresh convulsion of the same nature as the preceding ones; but, though his face was frightfully distorted, and his form writhed with pain, there was no accompaniment of phantasmal horrors.