We left Lizzie lying upon the sofa, where St. Leon had
laid her. After he was gone, Lucy proposed calling their
father and sending for a physician, but Lizzie objected,
saying she should be better when she got warm. During
the remainder of that night, Lucy sat by her sister's bedside,
while each cry of pain which came from Lizzie's lips
fell heavily upon her heart, for conscience accused her of
being the cause of all this suffering. At length the weary
night watches were finished, but the morning light showed
more distinctly Lizzie's white brow and burning cheeks.
She had taken a severe cold, which had settled upon her
lungs, and now she was paying the penalty of her first act
of disobedience.

Mr. Dayton had sent for the old family physician, who
understood Lizzie's constitution perfectly. He shook his

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head as he said, “How came she by such a cold? Did
she go the party?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Dayton.

“And not half dressed, I'll warrant,” said the gruff old
doctor.

Lucy turned pale as her father answered, quickly and
truthfully, as he thought, “No, sir, she was properly
dressed.”

Lizzie heard it, and though speaking was painful, she
said, “Forgive me, father, forgive me; I disobeyed you.
I wore the dress you said I must not wear!”

An exclamation of surprise escaped Mr. Dayton, who,
glancing at Lucy, read in her guilty face what Lizzie generously
would not betray.

“Oh, Lucy, Lucy,” said he, “how could you do so?”

Lucy could only reply through her tears. She was sincerely
sorry that by her means Lizzie had been brought
into danger; but when the doctor said that by careful
management she might soon be better, all feelings of
regret vanished, and she again began to think of St. Leon
and his promise to call. A look at herself in the mirror
showed her that she was looking pale and jaded, and she
half hoped he would not come. However, as the day
wore on, she grew nervous as she thought he possibly
might be spending his time with the hated Ada. But he
was not, and at about four o'clock there was a ring at the
door. From an upper window Lucy saw St. Leon, and
when Bridget came up for her, she asked if the parlor was
well darkened.

“An' sure it's darker nor a pocket,” said Bridget,” “an'
he couldn't see a haporth was ye twice as sorry lookin'.”

So bathing her face in cologne, in order to force a glow,
Lucy descended to the parlor, which she found to be as
dark as Bridget had said it was. St. Leon received her

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very kindly, for the devotion she had the night before
shown for her sister, had partially counterbalanced the
spitefulness he had observed in her manner when speaking
of Ada at the party. Notwithstanding Bridget's precautions,
he saw, too, that she was pale and spiritless, but he
attributed it to her anxiety for her sister, and this raised
her in his estimation. Lucy divined his thoughts, and in
her efforts to appear amiable and agreeable, a half hour
passed quickly away. At the end of that time she unfortunately
asked, in a very sneering tone, “how long since
he had seen the sewing girl?”

“If you mean Miss Harcourt,” said St. Leon, coolly,
“I've not seen her since I left her last night at her mother's
door.”

“You must have been in danger of upsetting if you attempted
to turn round in Mrs. Harcourt's spacious yard,”
was Lucy's next remark.

“I did not attempt it,” said St. Leon. “I carried Miss
Ada in my arms from the street to the door.”

The tone and manner were changed. Lucy knew it,
and it exasperated her to say something more, but she
was prevented by St. Leon's rising to go. As Lucy accompanied
him to the door, she asked “how long he intended
to remain in S —.”

“I leave this evening, in the cars for New Haven,”
said he.

“This evening?” repeated Lucy in a disappointed tone,
“and will you not return?”

“Yes, if the business on which I go is successful,” answered
St. Leon.

“A lady in question, perchance,” remarked Lucy playfully.

“You interpret the truth accurately,” said St. Leon,
and with a cold, polite bow, he was gone.

p598-207

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“Why was he going to New Haven?” This was the
thought which now tortured Lucy. He had confessed
that a lady was concerned in his going, but who was she,
and what was she to him? Any way, there was a comfort
in knowing that Ada Harcourt had nothing to do
with it!

Mistaken Lucy! Ada Harcourt had everything to do
with it!