tations of love and
sympathy were very soothing. Writhing under the consciousness of her
cousin's indifference, she turned eagerly to receive the tokens of
affection showered upon her. She knew that his happiness centred in her,
and vainly fancied that she could feed her hungry heart with his adoration.
But by degrees she realized that these husks would not satisfy her; and a
singular sensation of mingled gratitude and impatience arose whenever he
caressed her.

Mrs. Clifton was a rigid Roman Catholic, her son a free-thinker, in the
broadest significance of the term, if one might judge from the selections
that adorned his library shelves. But deep in his soul was the germination
of a mystical creed, which gradually unfolded itself to Electra.

It was late at night when Electra retired to her room, and sat down to
collect her thoughts after the unexpected occurrences of the day.

More than one discovery had been made since the sunrise, which she awoke so
early to study. She had found relatives, and an opportunity of living
luxuriously; but, in the midst of this beautiful _bouquet_ of surprises, a
serpent's head peered out at her. Mr. Clifton loved her; not as a teacher
his pupil, not as guardian loves ward, not as parent loves child. Perhaps
he had not intended that she should know it so soon, but his eyes had
betrayed the secret. She saw perfectly how matters stood. This, then, had
prompted him from the first, to render her assistance; he had resolved to
make her his wife; nothing less would content him. She twisted her white
fingers in her hair, and gazed vacantly down on the carpet, and gradually
the rich crimson blood sank out of her face. She held his life in the
hollow of her hand, and this she well knew; death hung over him like the
sword of Damocles; she had been told that any violent agitation or grief
would bring on the hemorrhage which he so much dreaded, and although he
seemed stronger and better than usual, the insidious nature of his disease
gave her little hope that he would ever be robust. To feign ignorance of
his real feelings for her, would prove but a temporary stratagem; the time
must inevitably come, before long, when he would put aside this veil, and
set the truth before her. How should she meet it--how should she evade him?
Accept the home which Mrs. Young would offer her, and leave him to suffer
briefly, to sink swiftly into the tomb? No; her father's family had cast
him most unjustly off, withh