Ralph went in, softly, as he had often done before. Miss Evelina had frequently left the door open for him at the hour he was expected to visit his patient. He paused a moment in the hall, but heard no sound save slow, deep breathing. He turned into the parlour, but stopped on the threshold as if he had been suddenly changed to stone. Upon the couch lay Miss Evelina, asleep, and unveiled. Her face was turned toward him--a face of such surpassing beauty that he gasped in astonishment. He had never seen such wondrous perfection of line and feature, nor such a crown of splendour as her lustreless white hair, falling loosely about her shoulders. Her face was as pure and as cold as marble, flawless, and singularly transparent. Her lips were deep scarlet and perfectly shaped; the white slender column of her throat held her head proudly. Long, dark lashes swept her cheek, and the years had left no lines. Feeling the intense scrutiny, Miss Evelina opened her eyes, slowly, like one still half asleep. Her eyes were violet, so deep in colour as to seem almost black. She stared at Ralph, unseeing, then the light of recognition flashed over her face and she sat up, reaching back quickly for her missing veil. "Miss Evelina!" cried Ralph. "Why, oh why!" "Why did you come in?" she demanded, resentfully. "You had no right!" "Forgive me," he pleaded, coming to her. "I've often come in when the door was open. Why, you've left it open for me yourself, don't you know you have?" "Perhaps," she answered, a faint colour coming into her cheek. "I had no idea of going to sleep. I am sorry." "I thought you might be ill," said Ralph. excusing himself further. "Believe me, Miss Evelina, I had no thought of intruding. I only came to help you." He stood before her, still staring, and her eyes met his clearly in return. In the violet depths was a world of knowledge and pain Suffering had transfigured her face into a noble beauty for which there were no words. Such a face might be the dream of a sculptor, the despair of a painter, and the ecstasy of a lover. "Why?", cried Ralph, again. "Because," she answered, simply, "my beauty was my curse." Ralph did not see that the words were melodramatic; he only sat down, weakly, in a chair opposite her. He never once took his eyes away from her, but stared at her helplessly, like a man in a dream. "Why?" he questioned, again. "Tell me why!" "It was in a laboratory," explained Miss Evelina. "I was there with the man I loved and to whom I was to be married the next day. No one knew of our engagement, for, in a small town, you know, people will talk, and we both felt that it was too sacred to be spoken of lightly.