ened her, asking if she
should bring her breakfast to her room.

"Yes, do," Katy replied, adjusting her dress and trying to arrange the
matted curls, which were finally confined in a net until Esther's more
practiced hands were ready to attack them.

And all this while the picture lay upon the bureau--the square,
old-fashioned daguerreotype, which Katy shrank from opening.

"I'll wait till after breakfast," she said; then as the thought came
over her that if the face proved as beautiful as Wilford had described,
she in her present forlorn condition would feel the contrast deeply, she
said, "I'll wait till Esther has fixed my hair; then I will look at
Genevra."

Breakfasting did not occupy her long, and Esther soon was busy with her
toilet, combing out and looping-back her curls, and bringing a plain
dress of rich bombazine, with fresh bands of white crape, as had been
worn the previous day. Katy's toilet was complete at last, and as Esther
closed the door behind her, Katy, with a trembling hand, took from the
drawer, where she had hid it from Esther's eyes, the picture of Genevra
Lambert.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE EFFECT.

With a shiver Katy held it a moment in her lap, noticing how old and
worn it looked--noticing, too, the foreign mark upon it, and that one
hinge was broken, wondering if all this wear had come from frequent use.
Had Wilford looked often at that picture?--and if so, what were his
feelings as he looked? Was he sorry that Genevra died? Did he sometimes
wish her there, instead of Katy Lennox, of Barlow origin? Did he
contrast their faces one with the other, giving the preference to
Genevra, or was Katy's liked the best? All these questions Katy asked
herself, while her fingers fluttered about the clasp, which she half
dreaded to unfasten.

Cautiously, very cautiously, at last the lid was opened, and a lock of
soft brown hair fell out, clinging to Katy's hand as if it had been a
living thing, and making her shudder with fear as she shook off the
silken tress and remembered that the head it once adorned was lying in
St. Mary's churchyard, where the English daisies grew.

"She had pretty hair," she thought; "darker, richer than mine," and into
Katy's heart there crept a feeling akin to jealousy, lest Genevra had
been fairer than herself, as well as better loved. "I won't be foolish
any longer," she said, and turning resolutely to the light she opened
the lid again and saw Genevra Lambert, star