“Would you? That is easily managed. I will ascertain where she is stopping, call upon her, and, as her heart is always touched for the sick, I know she will gladly come and see you,” Mr. Tressalia said, eagerly, exceedingly pleased to have Editha manifest so much interest in his friend. “Thank you. I should like it if she would; her history is very sad, and her face attracts me strangely,” she replied. Three days afterwards they were in the Redwood Library, examining some of the valuable manuscripts on exhibition there, when Madam Sylvester and her brother entered. Mr. Tressalia had tried to ascertain where they were stopping, but, to his great disappointment, he had failed to do so. He now went forward at once to greet them, and they seemed very much pleased to renew their acquaintance with him. After chatting a few moments, he brought Editha to madam and introduced her. She studied the sweet face for a moment, then her faultlessly gloved hand closed over Editha’s fingers in a strong yet tender clasp of sympathy and friendliness. She had read in the pale, sorrow-lined face a grief kindred to what she, too, had suffered in the past. “You are not well, my dear,” she said, with a wistful look into the sad blue eyes, still keeping her hand closely clasped in hers. “Miss Dalton has not been well, but we hope she is on the gain a little now. Have you seen the new piece of statuary that was brought in yesterday?” Mr. Tressalia asked, to draw her attention from Editha. She was quite sensitive about having her illness remarked by strangers, and the color was now creeping with painful heat into her cheeks. Madam took the hint at once, and turned to look at the new statue, and for a while kept up a spirited conversation with Mr. Tressalia about the objects of general interest in Newport. But ever and anon her eyes sought the fair face bending with curious interest over the manuscripts with a look of pity and tenderness that told she was deeply interested in the frail-looking stranger. “Who is she? Some one in whom you are _particularly_ interested?” she asked, with the privilege of an old friend, as she drew Paul still farther away, ostensibly to look at some pictures. He started, and his noble face was clouded with pain as he answered: “Yes, I am particularly interested in her, but not in the way you mean, for her heart belongs to another.” “Ah! I thought from appearances that she belonged, or would some day, belong to you,” returned madam, with a keen look into his handsome face. “No,” he said, gravely; “I am simply her friend. She has recently met with a great sorrow.” “I knew it,” madam replied, with a soft glance at Editha, and a slight trembling of her lips. “Has the dear child a mother?” “No; her mother died some years ago. She has no relatives living excepting her father, and he is not in sympathy with her.”