o pace to and
fro in the boudoir, as if striving to outstrip the pain of thinking. The
accident had left her nerves greatly shattered, and it was difficult to
concentrate the high moral courage that formed the glory of her woman's
nature. Thus she walked to and fro in a sort of vague, dreamy passion,
her thoughts all in a tumult, her very soul up in arms against the new
struggle forced upon her. Sometimes Mabel wrung her hand with a sudden
gush of sorrow. Her eyes would fill and her lips quiver, and she looked
around upon the sumptuous objects in her room, as if seeking out
something among all the elegance that filled it, which might have power
to comfort her.

There was no bitter or bad passion in the heart of Mabel Harrington. She
had only laid down her burden for a moment, and finding its weight
doubled, shrank from taking it up again. But she had a brave, strong
heart, that after a little would leap forward, like a checked racehorse
to its duty. This might not have been, had she always relied upon her
own strength, which so far as human power can go, was to be confided in.
But Mabel had a firmer and holier reliance, which was sure in the end to
subdue all these storms of trouble, and prepare her for the battle which
was to be fought over and over again before she found rest.

After a time, Mabel Harrington stole gently back to her easy-chair, and
kneeling down, buried her face in the cushions. Fair-Star, which had
been following her up and down, wondering at her distress, and looking
in that agitated face with his intelligent eyes, came and lay softly
down with his head resting on the folds of her shawl, where it swept
over the floor. He knew with his gentle instinct, that she was quieter
now, and with a contented whine lay down to guard her as she prayed.

While she was upon her knees, a rustling among the flowers in the
balcony made Fair-Star rise suddenly to his fore feet, and cast a
vigilant glance that way. He saw a hand cautiously outstretched, as if
to put back the trails of a passion flower, and then a dark figure stole
along behind the screen of blossoms, and crouching down, peered
cautiously through the leaves into the room. Fair-Star dropped his head;
he had recognized the intruder, and, not having any very definite ideas
of etiquette, concluded that the governess had a right to crouch like a
thief behind that screen of flowers, if her fancy led that way. For a
little time her presence kept the pretty h