She soon came back, holding something behind her back. Even at the last moment she was half unwilling. However, she looked down, and said, in a very peculiar tone, “Here is the handkerchief he put before his face at the opera; there!” and she threw it into Zoe's lap. Zoe's nature revolted against evidence so obtained. She did not even take up the handkerchief. “What!” she cried; “you took it out of his pocket?” “No.” “Then you have been in his room and got it.” _“Nothing of the kind!_ I sent Rosa.” “My maid!” “Mine, for that job. I gave her half a crown to borrow it for a pattern.” Zoe seized the handkerchief and ran her eye over it in a moment. There was no trace of blood on it, and there were his initials, “E. S.,” in the corner. Her woman's eye fastened instantly on these. “Silk?” said she, and held it up to the light. “No. Hair!--golden hair. It is _hers!”_ And she flung the handkerchief from her as if it were a viper, and even when on the ground eyed it with dilating orbs and a hostile horror. “La!” said Fanny; “fancy that! You are not blind now. You have seen more than I. I made sure it was yellow silk.” But this frivolous speech never even entered Zoe's ear. She was too deeply shocked. She went, feebly, and sat down in a chair, and covered her face with her hands. Fanny eyed her with pity. “There!” said she, almost crying, “I never tell the truth but I bitterly repent it.” Zoe took no notice of this droll apothegm. Her hands began to work. “What shall I do!” she said. “What shall I do!” “Oh, don't go on like that, Zoe!” cried Fanny. “After all, it is you he prefers. He ran away from her.” “Ah, yes. But why?--why? What has he done?” “Jilted her. I suppose. Aunt Maitland thinks he is after money; and, you know, you have got money.” “Have I nothing else?” said the proud beauty, and lifted her bowed head for a moment. “You have everything. But you should look things in the face. Is that singer an unattractive woman?” “Oh, no. But she is not poor. Her kind of talent is paid enormously.” “That is true,” said Fanny. “But perhaps she wastes it. She is a gambler, like himself.” “Let him go to her,” said Zoe, wildly; “I will share no man's heart.” “He will never go to her, unless--well, unless we tell him that she has broken the bank with his money.” “If you think so badly of him, tell him, then, and let him go. Oh, I am wretched--I am wretched!” She lifted her hands in despair, and began to cry and sob bitterly. Fanny was melted at her distress, and knelt to her, and cried with her. Not being a girl of steady principle, she went round with the wind. “Dear Zoe,” said she, “it is deeper than I thought. La! if you love him, why torment yourself?” “No,” said Zoe; “it is deceit and mystery that torment me. Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do!”