e was no one else to help her, and the blind terror of the thought
was so great that she must have help, or die. To have so injured Dolly,
whom she so loved,--to have, by her own deed, brought that dread shadow
of Death upon Dolly, who had saved her! Her heart seemed crushed. If
Aimee had been there; but Aimee was not, so she stretched out her hands
to the man she had so innocently loved. And as she so knelt before
him,--so fair, in the childlike _abandon_ of her grief, so guileless
and trusting in her sudden, sweet appeal, so helpless against the world,
even against herself,--his man's heart was touched and stirred as it had
never been before,--as even Dolly herself had not stirred it.

"My poor child!" he said, taking her hands and drawing her nearer to
himself. "My poor, pretty Mollie, come to me."

And why not, my reader? If one rose is not for us, the sun shines on
many another as sweet and quite as fair; and what is more, it is more
than probable that if we had seen the last rose first, we should have
loved the first rose last. It is only when, like Dolly and Grif, we have
watched our rose from its first peep of the leaf, and have grown with
its growth, that there can be no other rose but one.

"_Le roi est mort--Vive le roi!_"

CHAPTER XVIII. ~ GRIF!

THERE was a hush upon the guests at the pretty little inn. Most of them
were not sojourners of a day, who came and went, as they did at the
larger and busier hotels,--they were comfortable people who enjoyed
themselves in their own quiet way and so had settled down for the time
being. Accordingly they had leisure to become interested in each other;
and there were few of them who did not feel a friendly interest in the
pretty, pale English girl, who, report said, was fading silently out
of life in her bright room up-stairs. When Aimee arrived, the most
sympathetic shook their heads dubiously.

"The sister is here," they said; "a thoughtful little English creature
with a child's face and a woman's air. They sent for her. One can easily
guess what that means."

Any one but Aimee would have been crushed at the outset by the shock
of the change which was to be seen in the poor little worn figure, now
rarely moved from its invalid's couch. But Aimee bore the blow with
outward quiet at least. If she shed tears Dolly did not see them, and if
she mourned Dolly was not disturbed by her sorrow.

"I have come to help Miss MacDowlas to take care of you, Dolly," she