"Once my wife, she should queen it over that _fat_ Alpine Belmont, who got all her money," he said to his cousin. "She should have one of the finest houses in Boston, horses and carriages, jewels and fine dresses, and I would worship the very ground she trod on!" CHAPTER XXXII. "WE HAVE MET--WE HAVE LOVED--WE HAVE PARTED!" Farewell, farewell! for aye, farewell, Yet must I end as I began, I love you, love you, love but you. JOAQUIN MILLER. Kathleen gave up all hope of ever hearing from her Southern relatives. "They do not care for me, and I must not expect anything of them," she sighed, and the thought came to her that now she had been at Mrs. Stone's six weeks, and grown well and strong again, she must seek a situation as a teacher and support herself. "I suppose I could teach little children, and I must try to find some place. It is unfair to my kind friend for me to remain here longer," she sighed, and stole softly down to the library for a morning paper to consult the advertisements. As the girl glided softly across the floor a low murmur of voices reached her through the falling curtains from the adjoining parlor. The girl gave a violent start, and sunk tremblingly into the nearest chair. She was pale as death, and her heart beat violently against her side. What was it? What had startled the young girl so much? The sound of a voice had pierced her heart like a sword-thrust. It was Ralph Chainey's voice, so deep, so sweet, so mellow, that, once heard, it could never be forgotten, especially by one who loved him so despairingly as did our poor Kathleen. He was speaking to Mrs. Stone, and for one wild moment Kathleen believed that he had traced her here, that he had come to inquire for her. Surely then he could not be guilty, or conscience would have kept him away. She strained her ears to catch every tone of that deep, sweet voice, and then she heard him speaking to Mrs. Stone of her literary work. He had been so struck with the force of one of her books that he wanted her to dramatize it for him, or write him a new play. All unaware of Kathleen's nearness to him, the young actor had come here to this house, seemingly led by the subtle hand of Fate. Kathleen glided to the falling curtains, and, drawing one ever so lightly apart, gazed with eager, yearning eyes into the room. Her hungry eyes feasted on the sight of her false lover as he sat in full view, opposite Mrs. Stone, in a large velvet arm-chair. Never, it seemed to bonny Kathleen, had she seen him look so grandly handsome, not even in his spirited impersonation of Prince Karl, in which he had so thrilled her girlish heart. But Ralph Chainey was pale, and in his splendid, thoughtful brown eyes lay the haunting shadow of a cruel pain. He was tortured by his failure to find lost Kathleen.