"You wear this, as a pledge of betrothal? Is it not premature when your mother is in ignorance of your purpose? Tell me, my ward, tell me, do you not rather keep it here to stimulate your flagging sense of duty? To strengthen you to adhere to your rash resolve?" "He wrote that if I had faithfully kept my farewell promise to him he wished me to wear it." "May I know the nature of that promise?" "That I would always love him next to my mother." "But I think you admitted that possibly you might some day meet your ideal who would be dearer even than mother and Douglass. I do not wish to distress you needlessly, but while you are under my protection I must unflinchingly do all that honour demands of a faithful guardian. I can permit no engagement without your mother's approval; and I honestly confess to you, that I am growing impatient to place you in her care. Do you still desire your letter forwarded?" "If you please." "Sit down. I have sad news for you." He unbuttoned his coat, took an envelope from his pocket, and she recognized the telegram which had arrived the previous day. "Regina, many guardians would doubtless withhold this, but fairness and perfect candour have been my rule of life, and I prefer frankness to diplomacy. This telegraphic despatch arrived yesterday, and is intended for you, though addressed to me." He put it in her hand, and filled with an undefined terror that chilled her she read: "SAN FRANCISCO. "MR. ERLE PALMA,--Tell your ward that Douglass is too ill to travel farther. If she wishes to see him alive she must come immediately. Can't you bring her on at once? "ELISE LINDSAY." The despatch fluttered to the ground and the girl moaned and bowed her face in her hands. He waited some minutes, and with a sob she said: "Oh, let me go to him! It might be a comfort to him, and if he should die? Oh, do let me go!" "Do you think your mother would consent to your taking so grave a step?" "I do not know, but she would not blame me when she learned the circumstances. If I waited to consult her he might--oh! we are wasting time! Mr. Palma, pity me! Send me to him--to the friend who loves me so truly, so devotedly!" She started up and wrung her hands, as imagination pictured the noble friend ill, perhaps dying, and longing to see her.