“Ah! how I would like to comfort her. Come and see me this evening, and tell me more about her. I am strangely attracted toward her.” Paul Tressalia promised, and then they went back to Editha. Madam monopolized her, while he entertained her brother, and it was not long before the fair girl’s heart was completely won by the beautiful and tender-hearted woman. Madam Sylvester was remarkable for her tact and great versatility of talents, not the least of which was her charming manner in conversation. She could be grave or gay, witty or learned, and fascinating in any role. Paul Tressalia regarded her in surprise while she talked with Editha, drawing her from one subject to another, until she made her forget that there was such a person in the world as poor, heart-broken Editha Dalton. She won the smiles back to her lips, drove the lines of care and trouble from her brow, and once, as she related some droll incident that had occurred on the steamer in which she came over, made her laugh aloud—the old-timed, clear, sweet laugh, that made Paul’s heart thrill with delight. “Miss Dalton, I am coming to see you. I am a dear lover of young people,” she said, as they began to talk of going. “Do; I shall be delighted,” Editha said, with a sudden lighting of her sad eyes. “I am a stranger here in Newport, never having been in this country before,” madam continued. “I wish you and Mr. Tressalia would take pity upon me, and give me the benefit of your familiarity with the objects of interest here.” Editha unhesitatingly promised, not even suspecting that this request was made more for her own sake than for the beautiful stranger’s; and then they all left the library together. As they were about entering their carriage, Mr. Dalton drove by in his sporting sulky. He bowed to Editha, and then bestowed a passing glance upon her new acquaintances. That glance made him start and bestow a more searching look upon Madam Sylvester; then he grew a sudden and deep crimson, while a look of great anxiety settled on his face. He turned and looked back again after he had driven by. “There can be but one face like that in the world. I must look into this,” he muttered, uneasily. “Who was that lady and gentleman with whom I saw you to-day at the Redwood Library?” he asked of Editha that evening. “A Mrs. Sylvester and her brother,” she replied. “_Mrs. Sylvester!_” repeated Mr. Dalton, with a slight emphasis on the title. “Mr. Tressalia introduced her as Madam Sylvester. Do you know anything about her?” she asked, looking up in surprise. “Ah! Mr. Tressalia knows her, then? Where is she from?” he returned, thoughtfully, and not heeding her question. “From Paris, France; they are French people, and extremely agreeable.” Mr. Dalton’s face lost something of its habitual glow at this information, and he appeared ill at ease. “Um! strangers, then, here. Does Tressalia know them intimately?” and he shot a searching, anxious glance at his daughter.