be hard on mamma. Poor mamma! She
married among these Palmas, and very soon from force of habit and
association she too grew politic, cautious; finally she also froze,
and has never quite thawed again. She is not unkind,--you must not
think so for an instant; she only keeps her blood down to the safe,
wise prudent temperature of sherbet. Poor mamma! She does not like
dogs; once she was dreadfully bitten, almost torn to pieces by one,
and very naturally she has developed no remarkable 'affinity' for
them since that episode. Hattie will get you anything you need. Take
your bath and go to sleep, and dream good-natured things about
mamma."

She nodded, smiled pleasantly, and glided away as noiselessly as she
came, leaving Regina perplexed, and nowise encouraged with reference
to the stern cold character of her guardian.

She had eaten nothing since the previous day, had been unable to
close her eyes after bidding Mrs. Lindsay farewell; and now, quite
overcome with the reaction from the painful excitement of yesterday's
incidents, she threw herself across the foot of the bed, and clasped
her hands over her throbbing temples. No sound disturbed tier, save
the occasional roll of wheels on the street below, and very soon the
long lashes drooped, and she slept the heavy deep sleep of mental and
physical exhaustion.

CHAPTER XIV.

Led by poppy-wreathed wands, through those fabled ivory gates that
open into the enchanted realm of dreams, the weary girl forgot her
woes, and found blessed reunion with the absent dear ones, whose loss
had so beclouded the morning of her life.

Under the burning sun of India, through the tangled jungles of Oude,
she wandered in quest of the young missionary and his mother, now
springing away from the crouching tigers that glared at her as she
passed; now darting into some Himalayan cavern to escape the wild
ferocious eyes of Nana Sahib, who offered her that wonderful lost
ruby that he carried off in his flight, and when she seized it,
hoping its sale would build a church for mission worship, it
dissolved into blood that stained her fingers. With a fiendish laugh
Nana Sahib told her it was a part of the heart of a beautiful woman
butchered in the "House of Massacre" at Cawnpore. On and on she
pressed, footsore and weary but undaunted, through those awful
mountain solitudes, and finally hearing in the distance the bark of
Hero, she followed the sound, reached the banks of Jumna, and there