self to sleep, and thus Louis found
her at two o'clock in the morning, when he returned from attending a
patient. "Good gracious! Natalie, what are you doing here," said he
raising her from her uncomfortable position, "why you are quite
chilled," he continued as a convulsive shudder shook her whole frame,
"what ever possessed you to sit up, and the fire out, how could you be
so foolish." She raised her large dark eyes to his with an expression
intensely sad and entreating, and whispered "O Louis, tell me do you
love me!" he could not bear the searching eagerness of that wistful
gaze, and turning from her answered "can you doubt it you silly little
thing, come, take the lamp and go to bed, while I get you something to
stop this shivering--he turned to go.

"Do not leave me, oh Louis, stay," she cried, and fell senseless on the
floor.

Through that night and for many long days and nights, Natalie lay in a
burning fever, and in the delirium caused by it she would beseech him to
love her, and again and again in the most pathetic manner entreat him
not to leave her, and say, it was very wicked of him not to love her,
why was it, what had she done to displease him, then murmur incoherent
words about a hateful girl, beautiful but poor that he loved, but not
his poor little Natalie, and then starting up with outstretched arms she
would implore him to be kind to her and love her.

Whether Louis felt any remorse at dooming a being so bright and fair to
such a miserable existence, or whether there was not more anger than
sorrow in that impenetrable calm none could tell; he was very attentive,
and tried to sooth with gentle words, but woe to any of the attendants
who dared to make any remark upon her in his hearing; all she said was
treated indifferently as the natural result of the disease, and the
nurse was commanded to be silent, when she presumed to say poor dear;
whatever passed amongst themselves, in his presence they maintained a
discreet silence. When Natalie recovered she was sweet and gentle as
ever, but a passive lasting melancholy took the place of her former
charming vivacity, henceforth life had lost its charm; with patient love
she bore with Louis's variable temper, and was never known to speak a
harsh word to little Isabel.

CHAPTER XVIII.

Swiftly passed the happy days in the beautiful villa home to which
Arthur Barrington had taken his bride. But at length remorseful thoughts
of his father's loneline