Upon which Dick burst into a great laugh, which silenced Innocent; but she had not the least idea why he laughed. Her mind was too much intent upon one subject to mind anything else. Frederick had brought a photograph of his betrothed to exhibit to his mother, and Innocent was seen bending over it and examining it long and closely. Next morning it was found on the table torn up into little fragments. The house was disturbed by this, for Frederick gave his mother and sister credit for the destruction of the image of his love, and accused them of want of consideration for himself, and many another sin against his mightiness. Both the accused ladies, however, suspected how it was; Innocent had torn it up quickly and quietly after she had looked at it. She had done it with no vindictiveness, but with a quiet solemnity, like an administration of justice. “Why did you tear it up?” Nelly said to her, a day or two later. “Because I do not like her,” said the girl steadily, not rejecting the blame. “But, Innocent, though we may dislike people, we cannot destroy them--nor even their portraits,” said Nelly. “No,” said Innocent, “but it would be better if she could be destroyed,” she added, speaking low. “Hush,--hush,--why do you say so? She has not done anything wrong----” Innocent made no immediate answer. Her face had changed from its wistful blank to an almost haggard look of sadness and pain. She turned away from Nelly, who was half angry and half sympathetic. The strange thing which they could not understand was, that she had no apparent anger against Frederick, or painful feeling towards him. She was not angry. A sinking sense of loneliness came over her when she thought of his departure, but no offence against him.--She was as ready as ever to go to him in the garden, to walk with him, to cling to his arm.--Once, even, she ventured to do what no one else did,--she remonstrated. This was within a few days of his marriage, when all opposition was stopped, and nobody made any attempt to change the inevitable. They had been walking up and down together for some time, he saying nothing, she to all appearances passive as usual,--when, quite suddenly, without any warning, she spoke. “Frederick! I wish you would not marry.--Why should you marry and go away? I do not like her face. If I had known that you would go away, I should have stayed in Pisa. Cannot you give it up?--I do not like you to marry. Oh, stay with us, stay!” Frederick had stared at her when she began,--now he burst into fits of unconquerable laughter. There was something insulting in its tone which touched some chord in Innocent’s nature. She went away from him without a word, and for days spoke to him no more. CHAPTER XXV. AFTER A YEAR.