red haze, when the green leaves hang languidly, and the birds
seek the coolest shade, when the flowers droop with thirst, and never a
breath of air stir their blossoms, when there is no picture so
refreshing to the senses as that of a cool deep pool in the recesses of
a wood.

She stood at the grand entrance, watching him depart, and she knew that
with all her beauty, her grace, her talent, her sovereignty, no one had
ever loved her as this man did. Then, after he was gone, she stood still
on the broad stone terrace, with that strange smile on her face, which
seemed to mar while it deepened her beauty.

"It will be a full revenge," she said to herself. "There could be no
fuller. But what shall I do when it is all known?"

She was not one to flinch from the course of action she had marked out
for herself, nor from the consequences of that course; but she shuddered
even in the heat, as she thought what her life would be when her
vengeance was taken.

"He will never forgive me," she said, "he will look upon me as the
wickedest of women. It does not matter; he should not have exasperated
me by slighting me."

Then the coppery haze seemed to gather itself together--great purple
masses of clouds piled themselves in the sky, a lurid light overspread
the heavens, the dense oppressive silence was broken by a distant peal
of thunder, great rain-drops fell--fierce, heavy drops. The trees seemed
to stretch out their leaves to drink in the moisture, the parched
flowers welcomed the downpour; and still the Duchess of Hazlewood stood
out on the terrace, so deeply engrossed in her thoughts that she never
heeded the rain.

Madaline hastened out to her with a shawl.

"Dear duchess," she cried, "it is raining; and you are so absorbed in
thought that you do not notice it."

She laughed a strange, weird laugh, and raised her beautiful face with
its expression of gloom.

"I did not notice it, Madaline," she said; "but there is no need for
anxiety about me," she added, proudly.

They re-entered the house together. Madaline believed that the duchess
was thinking of and grieving over the departure of the duke. Lady Peters
thought the same. They both did their best to comfort her--to amuse her
and distract her thoughts. But the absent expression did not die from
her dark eyes. When they had talked to her some little time she took up
the "Lady of Lyons."

"How much you admire that play," said Madaline; "I see you reading it so
ofte