ndependence that I respect greatly; but
it is quite possible, you know, Pauline, to manage an invalid--to
provide good wine and little delicacies."

"I will do all that myself," observed the young girl.

Lady Darrell went nearer to her.

"Pauline," she said, gently, "you have always repelled every effort of
mine; you would not be friends with me. But now, dear--now that I am so
much happier, that I have no cloud in my sky save the shadow of your
averted face--be a little kinder to me. Say that you forgive me, if I
have wronged you."

"You have wronged me, Lady Darrell, and you know it. For me to talk of
forgiveness is only a farce; it is too late for that. I have had my
revenge!"

Lady Darrell looked up at her with a startled face.

"What is that you say, Pauline?"

"I repeat it," said the girl, huskily--"I have had my revenge!"

"What can you mean? Nothing of moment has happened to me. You are
jesting, Pauline."

"It would be well for you if I were," said the girl; "but I tell you in
all truth I have had my revenge!"

And those words sounded in Lady Darrell's ears long after Pauline had
left Darrell Court.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE STRANGER ON THE SANDS.

The tide was coming in, the sun setting over the sea; the crimson and
golden light seemed to be reflected in each drop of water until the
waves were one mass of heaving roseate gold; a sweet western wind laden
with rich, aromatic odors from the pine woods seemed to kiss the waves
as they touched the shore and broke into sheets of beautiful white foam.
It was such a sunset and such a sea--such a calm and holy stillness. The
golden waters stretched out as far and wide as the eye could reach. The
yellow sands were clear and smooth; the cliffs that bounded the coast
were steep and covered with luxuriant green foliage. Pauline Darrell had
gone to the beach, leaving Miss Hastings, who already felt much better,
to the enjoyment of an hour's solitude.

There was a small niche in one of the rocks, and the young girl sat down
in it, with the broad, beautiful expanse of water spread out before her,
and the shining waves breaking at her feet. She had brought a book with
her, but she read little; the story did not please her. The hero of it
was too perfect. With her eyes fixed on the golden, heaving expanse of
water, she was thinking of the difference between men in books and men
in real life. In books they were all either brave or vicious--either
very noble