"Shame on you, Miss Strickland, for so far forgetting your womanly feelings as to seek to injure one who has never intentionally done you harm. Shame on you for encouraging such revengeful feelings and badness of heart; for striving to render another as unhappy as you are yourself. All womankind, if they knew it, would think ill of you, and hold you in utter contempt. As for me, I scorn your words--your acts--and care little for the premeditated evil you threaten me with. Yes, I the poor dependant, separated from home,--mother,--friends, with none to help and befriend me, save One who has said He will be a father to the fatherless. Strong in his strength, and confident in my own purity of heart, I reject your words--your threats--with scorn, and pity you!" How beautiful Amy looked, as for a moment she stood confronting Frances with all the strong emotions she felt flashing in her soft eyes, and chasing one another by turns over her face. If a look could have turned Frances Strickland from her purpose, surely she would there and then have repented; but there was no sign of wavering, no pitying expression in her eyes, and turning away without another word, Amy left the room. As the door closed upon her, the revengeful, unpitying expression died away from Frances' face, and burying her face in the soft crimson cushions of the chair, she wept, as only women can weep, passionately--convulsively. After a while, she slowly raised herself and while sobs shook her frame, murmured with difficulty. "Is it possible that I can have lost his love? Has he indeed taken it from me and given it to that girl? My God! that I should have lived to see it. Was ever anguish equal to mine? A drowning man catching at a straw is an enviable fate compared to mine; for I have not a straw even to lay hold of. To think that I should live to see myself deserted--cast aside without a thought. Oh! if I could only cast him off as easily, and revenge myself by weaning her love--for I know she must love him--poor and pitiful as it is, from him; so that he might feel some of the woe I suffer. If I could only do that. But no, I cannot--I cannot; I must love him." Again she wept bitter, passionate tears, then went on despairingly. "I cannot have been deceived; surely he did love me? I cannot have fancied it; oh! no, no; I am sure he loved me until he saw her. Oh! why did he ever see her? Why did they ever meet? And why was I so angry and proud with him when I found them talking together?" She stopped again. Then went on bitterly and gloomily, while she clasped her hands tightly together over her bosom as if to check the tumult within, and stifle the sobs that shook her.