For a moment she portrayed to herself what she had supposed would have happened that day--she imagined herself lying white and still--the people coming and going on tiptoe and speaking in hushed tones, as if death were but a troubled and easily broken sleep; while they looked at her with faces in which curiosity and horror were equally blended; she saw her father staring at her in utter despair, and her mother trying, in a pitifully helpless way, to think how appearances might still be kept up and a little shred of respectability retained. She saw the artist looking at her with stern, white face, and heard him mutter: "What were you to me that you should commit this awful deed and lay it at my door, thus blighting a life full of the richest promise with your horrible shadow?" "Thank God, thank God!" she cried passionately. "It's all like a dreadful dream and never happened." "Why, Ida, what IS the matter?" said Mrs. Mayhew, coming in hastily. "I had a bad dream," said Ida, with something like a low sob. "Ida, I want you to see the doctor, to-day. You haven't acted like yourself for over two weeks." "Mother, what time is it?" "Ten o'clock and after." "Please draw the curtain. I want to see the sunlight." "The sun is very hot to-day." "Is it?" Then under her breath she murmured: "Thank God, so it is." She arose and began making her toilet slowly, for the languor of her long sleep and excessive fatigue was on her still. But thought was very busy. The subject uppermost in her mind was the promised visit to old Mr. Eltinge, and she resolved to go at once, if it were a possible thing. Mrs. Mayhew having again referred to her purpose of sending for a physician, Ida turned to her and said, decisively: "Mother, do you not realize that I am not a child? What is the use of sending for a doctor when I will not see him? I ask--I insist that you and Mr. Stanton interfere with me no longer." "My goodness, Ida, shall not I, your own mother, take any care of you?" "It is too late in the day now to commence taking care of me. You have permitted me to grow up so wanting in mental and moral culture that you naturally suspect me of the vilest action. Henceforth I take care of myself, and act for myself;" and she abruptly left the room and went to Mr. Burleigh's office, requesting that the light phaeton and a safe horse, such as she could drive, should be sent around to he door at once. "Miss Ida, you've not been well. Do you think you had better go out in the heat of the day?" asked Mr. Burleigh, kindly. She looked at him a moment, and then said, a little impulsively, "Mr. Burleigh, I thank you for speaking to me in that way. Yes, I wish to go, and think I shall be better for it."