hing looked
on that "letter day" of hers,--that red-letter day,--that golden-letter
day!

The very letters she had written then lay in her trunk now, tied
together in a bundle, just as Grif had brought them and laid them down
upon the table when he gave her up forever. Her "dead letter" lay with
them,--that last, last appeal, which had never reached his heart, and
never would. She had written her last letter to him, and he his last to
her.

And now she had been brought to "try Switzerland" and Lake Geneva as a
Lethe.

But she had determined to be practical and courageous, and bear it as
best she might. It would not have been like her to give way at once
without a struggle. She did not believe in lovelorn damsels, who pined
away and died of broken hearts, and made all their friends uncomfortable
by so doing. She made a struggle, and refused to give up. She grew
shadowy and fair; but it was under protest, and she battled against the
change she felt creeping upon her so slowly but so surely. She showed
a brave face to people, and tried to be as bright and ready-witted
as ever; and if she failed it was not her own fault. She fought hard
against her sleepless nights and weary days; and when she lay awake
hour after hour hearing the clock strike, it was not because she made
no effort to compose herself, it was only because the delicate wheels
of thought _would_ work against her helpless will, and it was worse than
useless to close her eyes when she could see so plainly her lost
lover's desperate, anguished face, and hear so distinctly his strained,
strangely altered voice: "No, it is too late for that now,--that is all
over!" And he had once loved her better than his life!

So it was that, try as she might, she could not make Switzerland a
success. When she went down to the table d'hote, people saw that instead
of growing stronger she was growing more frail, and the exertion of
coming down the long flight of stairs tried her more than it had seemed
to do that first day. Sometimes she had a soft, lovely, dangerous color
on her cheeks, and her eyes looked almost translucent; and then again
the color was gone, her skin was white and transparent, and her eyes
were shadowy and languid. When the hot July days came in, the ring of
pearls and amethyst would stay on the small worn hand no longer, and so
was taken off and hung with the little bunch of coquettish "charms" upon
her chain. But she was not conquered yet, and the guest