And then she leant her elbows on the dressing-table and lost herself in a delicious reverie; but presently a cloud passed over her brow. Supposing Ferdinand were unable to prove his innocence, what would she do? Had she the courage to marry him with a stain upon his name and character; and even if she had the courage, would it be right for her so to do? Besides, she could not marry him whilst he retained his pseudonym, and neither in Palestine nor England could they be united under the name of Montella. Looking into the future, she foresaw difficulties so immense as to be almost insuperable, but she could not bear the thought of ever having to give up the man she loved. No sacrifice would be too great so far as she personally was concerned; but she hated the thought of grieving the one to whom she owed more than she could ever repay. It was not in her nature to act clandestinely or to rebel against authority, especially when she knew that that authority was worthy of esteem. So that if it came to breaking with either Lady Montella or her lover, the struggle would be keen and bitter; for whichever way it went she would lose a friend. She could only hope that what she dreaded might never come to pass, and that her lover would return with his honour unimpeached. Once he were able to reclaim his forfeited rights, all impedimenta to their marriage would be removed. Her foster-aunt would not withhold her consent without due cause. “Haifa seems to agree with you better than it does with us,” her mother remarked, when in the cool of early morning she betook herself to the little white bungalow which the Emanuels inhabited. “You are looking splendid, Raie—different to our pasty-looking, freckled Harriet.” Raie was sorry for her sister, who, since the dissolution of her engagement with the young man who had cruelly jilted her some months before they left England, had come in for an unpalatable number of home-truths. “Harriet cannot help her freckles, mother,” she rejoined, taking up the cudgels in her defence. “I think she finds the climate trying, and I know she does not like the food.” Mrs. Emanuel tossed her head in impatience. “Nonsense!” she exclaimed, with anger. “She doesn’t give the food a chance; it is all I can do to get her to eat at all. Ever since her engagement was broken off, she has done nothing but mope and pine for Harry Levi. She has lost all her good looks, and she takes no trouble over her appearance; and I’m sure the fellow isn’t worth a thought. I’m ashamed of her, and that’s the truth; I never thought she would develop into a crotchety old maid.” The girl was silent, scarcely knowing what to say. Thinking of her own lover, she felt more sympathy for her unfortunate sister than she dare own. But when Harriet made her appearance a little while later, she could not help experiencing a shock. Was it really love—or the lack of it—that could make such a change?