that beautiful head upon her arm, and slept. The wind had no
power to arouse her, though it shook the old house in all its gables.
The thunder rolled through her dreams, like the reverberating strains of
a celestial harp, and when the lightning flamed through her room, it
only kindled the volume of lace over her head into a cloud of golden
tissue, under which she slept like a cherub in one of Murillo's
pictures.

Thus Lina spent the night. In the morning she arose at the usual hour,
and stole forth to walk. The household were astir in the kitchen, but
she saw no member of the family, and went out unconscious of Mrs.
Harrington's accident. When she came back, a shy terror seized upon her
at the thought of meeting Ralph again in the presence of his relatives;
and, evading the breakfast-room, she stole to her own chamber. But
loneliness at length became oppressive, and, with a breathless effort at
composure, she sought a little boudoir or private sitting-room, which
opened from Mrs. Harrington's bed-chamber, and where that lady usually
spent some hours of the morning. Lina unclosed the door softly and went
in, trembling with a world of gentle emotions as she approached Ralph's
mother.

Mrs. Harrington was seated in a large easy-chair. A morning shawl of
pale blue cashmere flowed over an under-dress of French embroidery. The
tint of these garments did not relieve the pallor of her cheek which
would have been painful, but for the crimson glow reflected upon it from
the brocaded cushions of the chair. Her foot rested upon an embroidered
cushion; and she was languidly sipping chocolate from a cup of embossed
parian which she had scarcely strength to hold. A beautiful Italian
grey-hound stood close by the cushion, regarding her with looks of eager
interrogation that seemed almost human.

Lina glided softly behind the easy-chair, and remained a moment
gathering courage to speak. At last, she bent softly forward:

"Mother!"

Mrs. Harrington looked up kindly, but with a touch of seriousness. She
had been wounded by Lina's seeming inattention.

Before another word could be spoken, the door opened noiselessly, and
Agnes Barker hesitated upon the threshold, regarding the two with a dark
glance. She stood a moment with the latch in her hand, as if about to
withdraw again, but seemed to change her mind, and stepped boldly into
the room.

Mabel was looking at her adopted daughter and the door opened so
noiselessly that neither