“I cannot understand why you should come here, Lady Annesley,” she said. “Sir Harold loves you fondly. Why should you call yourself unhappy!” “I wanted to see you. Oh, I have longed so much to see you--to know if you were good and true! My husband loves me, yes, but not as he loves you. While in the delirium of fever he told me so, and I know that he has seen you recently--that a bitter parting has taken place between you. Lady Elaine, you will never know how happy we were once, in the garden of roses, where I learned to worship my king. Oh, if I could have died then, what a blissful death it would have been!” “You must forget that Sir Harold and I ever cared for each other,” Lady Elaine said, gently. “It is all over and past, you and he are now husband and wife.” Theresa looked at her mournfully. “I wanted to see you,” she went on, “and now I am satisfied. I do not wonder that he loves you best. I have heard much of the shameful story which parted you, and then Sir Harold only married me out of pity for my helplessness, while I loved him, even as you may never love him, Lady Elaine! For my sake he has sacrificed all that makes life worth the living. He does not know that I am here--he will never know unless you tell him. He does not even dream that I have any knowledge of your whereabouts; but I wished to look upon your beautiful face once, and that is why I am here.” “Lady Annesley, I have parted from Sir Harold forever,” Elaine said. “He came here yesterday to say good-by. His words concerning you were only words of love.” Theresa did not reply, but gazed wistfully at Lady Elaine. “Kiss me once,” she said, after a little while. “I am going now, and we shall never meet again!” Elaine knew not what to say. After all, Theresa was but a child, and she pressed her lips fondly to the girl’s cold cheek. “Yes, we shall meet again, Lady Annesley,” she whispered. “In the future, when the pain in our hearts is less. After all, life is but a feverish dream, and our longings are never satisfied.” Theresa smiled sadly, but there was a sweet, saintly expression on her lovely face that Elaine never forgot. “I am much happier now that I have seen you,” she said. A long-drawn sigh escaped her, and she added “Good-by.” She rose to her feet, and Lady Elaine walked with her into the hall, the door of which was standing open, for the early autumn morning was warm and balmy. There was a last farewell, and then the lovely, little, black figure was gone. An inexpressible mournfulness seemed to be in the very air, and for a long time Elaine wandered from room to room, a strange feeling of unrest upon her. She could not forget the sorrowfulness of Theresa’s last good-by. It seemed to echo about her like a voice from the spirit world. Late in the evening the little household was startled by an imperative knock, followed by a sharp ring at the doorbell.