“There he is now. Papa, come here, please;” and she went toward him, drawing Madam Sylvester with her. “I want to introduce you to my friend, Madam Sylvester,” she said, with a sweet smile, and all unsuspicious of the tempest raging within Mr. Dalton’s bosom. It was done, and there was no escape now; but it was a very pale face that Sumner Dalton bent before madam and the steel-like glitter of his eyes repelled her, and made her think of Editha as a poor lamb in the clutches of a wolf. “She does not look like him; she must resemble her mother; but she has hair and eyes like——” was madam’s inward comment, but which was broken short off at this point with a regretful sigh. But the next moment she had turned to him again with her usual graciousness. “Mr. Dalton,” she said, “I have been telling your daughter how disappointed I was to find her gone so suddenly from Newport. I had only just become acquainted with her, to be sure, but I had promised myself much pleasure in my intercourse with her.” Mr. Dalton bowed and smiled, and mechanically repeated something stereotyped about “mutual pleasure,” &c., and then turned to be presented to Mr. Gustave Sylvester, but not before madam had noticed again that steel-like glitter in his eyes. “My dear,” she said to Editha, “I have not yet asked you where you are stopping?” “At the Grand Union.” “That is capital, for we have all secured rooms there also, and I hope we shall see much of each other.” “I hope so, too,” Editha said, heartily, and thinking how all her life she had longed for just such a friend as she thought madam would be. “How long do you remain?” she asked. “I am sure I cannot tell. As long as papa desires, I suppose, as I make my plans conform to his as much as possible,” and Editha cast an anxious glance at Mr. Dalton, whose strange manner she had remarked; and was somewhat troubled by it. He was sustaining rather a forced conversation with Mr. Gustave Sylvester, but his manner was nervous and his brow gloomy and lowering. “You are looking better than when I saw you at Newport,” madam said, with an admiring glance at her beautiful companion. “Yes, I think my health is improving,” Editha answered; but she sighed as she said it, and a look of pain crossed her face. Speaking of her ill-health always reminded her of its cause, and sent her thoughts flying over the sea to Earle. The sigh touched madam, for she divined its cause; and, drawing the fair girl a little closer within her encircling arm, she laid her lips against her ear and tenderly whispered: “We must never forget, dear, no matter how dark our lot, that One has said, ‘Thy strength is sufficient for thee.’” Editha started, and her lip quivered a trifle. “Do you think it is possible to realize that under all circumstances?” she asked, a slight tremulousness in her tone, notwithstanding her effort at self-control.