And at the bare thought of such a triumph, the spoiled little beauty crossed the room with as regal a step as though she really trod the cloudy heights of Olympus, and casting off her veil and robe of changeful hue, she wrapped her fairy form in a luxurious dressing-gown, and sunk quite exhausted into the arms of a capacious _fauteuil_, from beneath the downy cushions of which she drew forth the last new novel, and soon seemingly abandoned herself to its absorbing interest. “I will try, Miss, once more for the roses,” said Ferris, as she turned to leave the room, “unless you are willing Grayson should go—she knows the place, for she went there with me, Miss, and would, I think, be much more likely to get them than I should.” “I care not a pin who goes, Ferris,” said Alicia, looking up from beneath the mass of silk and down in which she sat half-buried—“only let me have the roses and I will not even ask how they were got, or by whom.” And again she sunk listlessly down into what might have seemed a little bundle of embroidered silk, but for the crown of shining ringlets just visible in its midst. CHAPTER II. The scene of our tale changes from the abode of wealth and fashion to the humble dwelling of poverty, with its trials and privations—from the exhibition of a spoiled and petted beauty’s vain and idle caprices, to the manifestations of a pure and noble spirit, oppressed by misfortune, yet true to its own high convictions of duty, gently submissive to the Divine hand which guided and sustained it, and ever shedding around its lowly sphere the light and peace of its own heavenly faith and love.