which I was to conceal, or meet so awful a penalty,
seemed to scorch the bosom that throbbed wildly against its folds.

All that I have described occurred in the space of a few moments. Before
Ernest returned, the stranger had resumed his seat,--(I cannot, oh, I
cannot call him _father_,)--and there was no apparent cause for my
unconquerable emotion. Meg, who was laughing and talking with her
companions, had observed nothing. The secret was safe, on which I was
told two lives depended. Two,--I might say _three_, since one was the
life of Ernest.

I attempted to take the glass of water, but my hand shook so I could not
hold it. I dared not look in the face of Ernest, lest he should read in
mine all that had occurred.

"What is the matter?" he asked, anxiously. "Gabriella, has any thing
alarmed you during my absence?"

"The odor of the gas sickens me," I answered, evading the question; "if
you are willing, I should like to return home."

"You seem strangely affected in crowds," said he, in an undertone, and
bending on me a keen, searching glance. "I remember on commencement day
you were similarly agitated."

"I do indeed seem destined to suffer on such occasions," I answered, a
sharp pang darting through my heart. I read suspicion in his altered
countenance. The flower leaves were beginning to wither. "If Miss
Melville is willing, I should like to return."

"What is that you say about going home?" cried Meg, turning quickly
round. "What in the world is this, Gabriella? You look as if you had
seen a ghost!"

"Whatever she has seen, it is probable you have been equally favored,
Miss Melville, since you were together," said Ernest, in the same cold
undertone. The orchestra was playing a magnificent overture, there was
laughter and merriment around us, so the conversation in our box was not
over-heard.

"I!" exclaimed Meg. "I have not seen any thing but one sociable looking
neighbor. I should not wonder if his eyes had blistered her face, they
have been glowing on her so intensely."

As she raised her voice, the stranger turned his head, and again I met
them,--those strange, basilisk eyes. They seemed to drink my heart's
blood. It is scarcely metaphorical to say so, for every glance left a
cold, deadly feeling behind.

"Come, Gabriella," said Ernest; "if Miss Melville wishes it, she can
remain with Mr. Harland. I will send back the carriage for them."

"To be sure I wish it," cried Meg. "They say the best part