withdrew, and the crowd, with
a final cheer, dispersed.

Mr. Rothsay retired once more to the library, accompanied by his
friends, to renew their discussion.

Cora, in her restlessness of spirit, arose from her seat and walked
several times up and down the floor.

Presently, weary of walking, and attracted by the coolness and darkness
of the back drawing room, in which the chandeliers had not been lighted,
she passed between the draped blue satin portieres that divided it from
the front room and entered the apartment.

The French windows stood open upon a richly stored flower garden, from
which the refreshing fragrance of dewy roses, lilies, violets, cape
jasmines, and other aromatic plants was wafted by the westerly breeze.

Cora seated herself upon the sofa between the two low French windows,
and waited.

Presently she heard the visitors taking leave.

"The committee will wait on you between ten and eleven to-morrow
morning," she heard one gentleman say, as they passed out.

Then several "good nights" were uttered, and the guests all departed,
and the door was closed.

Cora heard her husband's quick, eager step as he hurried into the front
drawing room, seeking his wife.

She felt her heart sinking, the high nervous tension of her whole frame
relaxing. She heard the hall clock strike ten. When the last stroke died
away, she heard her husband's voice calling, softly:

"Cora, love, wife, where are you?"

She could bear no more. The overtasked heart gave way.

When, the next instant, the eager bridegroom pushed aside the satin
portieres and entered the apartment, with a flood of light from the room
in front, he found his bride had thrown herself down on the Persian rug
before the sofa in the wildest anguish and despair and in a paroxysm of
passionate sobs and tears.

What a sight to meet a newly-made, adoring husband's eyes on his
marriage evening and on the eve of the day of his highest triumph, in
love as in ambition!

For one petrified moment he gazed on her, too much amazed to utter a
word.

Then suddenly he stooped, raised her as lightly as if she had been a
baby, and laid her on the sofa.

"Cora--love--wife! Oh! what is this?" he cried, bending over her.

She did not answer; she could not, for choking sobs and drowning tears.

He knelt beside her, and took her hand, and bent his face to hers, and
murmured:

"Oh, my love! my wife! what troubles you?"

She wrenched her hand from his, turn