over away. It
flew along the Rhone like a bird in a tempest, and after a few seconds
appeared like a black speck in the midst of the heavy fog which floated
over the water, then was lost to view.

Now that Gaston was gone, Valentine had no motive for concealing her
despair; she wrung her hands and sobbed as if her heart would break. All
her forced calmness, her bravery and hopefulness, were gone. She felt
crushed and lost, as if the sharp pain in her heart was the forerunner
of the torture in store for her; as if that swiftly gliding bark had
carried off the better part of herself.

While Gaston treasured in the bottom of his heart a ray of hope, she
felt there was nothing to look forward to but shame and sorrow.

The horrible facts which stared her in the face convinced her that
happiness in this life was over; the future was worse than blank. She
wept and shuddered at the prospect.

She slowly retraced her footsteps through the friendly little gate which
had so often admitted poor Gaston; and, as she closed it behind her,
she seemed to be placing an impassable barrier between herself and
happiness.

Before entering, Valentine walked around the chateau, and looked up at
the windows of her mother's chamber.

They were brilliantly lighted, as usual at this hour, for Mme. de la
Verberie passed half the night in reading, and slept till late in the
day.

Enjoying the comforts of life, which are little costly in the country,
the selfish countess disturbed herself very little about her daughter.

Fearing no danger in their isolation, she left her at perfect liberty;
and day and night Valentine might go and come, take long walks, and sit
under trees for hours at a time, without restriction.

But on this night Valentine feared being seen. She would be called upon
to explain the torn, muddy condition of her dress, and what answer could
she give?

Fortunately she could reach her room without meeting anyone.

She needed solitude in order to collect her thoughts, and to pray for
strength to bear the heavy burden of her sorrows, and to withstand the
angry storm about to burst over her head.

Seated before her little work-table, she emptied the purse of jewels,
and mechanically examined them.

It would be a sweet, sad comfort to wear the simplest of the rings, she
thought, as she slipped the sparkling gem on her finger; but her mother
would ask her where it came from. What answer could she give? Alas,
none.

She ki