It was Jessie Lyndon in her tattered garments, on which clung flecks of melting snow, her face drawn and pallid with misery, the tears half frozen on her cheeks, her form trembling with weariness, her beauty half obscured by her miserable plight, as strange a contrast to that palatial scene and the queenly woman before her as the mind could well imagine. She knelt before the startled lady with upraised, pleading eyes and pathetic clasped hands, imploring: “Oh, madam, forgive me this intrusion, but my heart is breaking! Oh, will you let me see Mr. Laurier once before he is lost to me forever!” “Child, this is very strange!” “Oh, madam, let me explain! I have a right to see him. We were out driving. There was such a dreadful accident! Oh, you can see for yourself how my heart is breaking!” wailed the poor girl, losing all control over her emotion, and sobbing outright. Mrs. Dalrymple cried out in the greatest wonder: “Why you are the little girl that was with Frank in the runaway accident yesterday, are you not? How very, very strange you look and act, poor child! You should not come here to see Mr. Laurier, you know. It is not proper to do so, and, besides----” Jessie interrupted wildly: “Oh, madam, do not scold me, I pray you. I am wretched enough already. Is there not a woman’s heart beating under your silks and jewels the same as under my rags? Then pity me, I implore you, and grant the boon I crave! Let me see him but once.” “All this is very strange to me, child, and for my life I cannot understand why you should be so anxious to see Frank Laurier, but I cannot resist your frenzied appeals, they touch me too deeply. He is in there. Go in and speak to him!” waving her jeweled hand toward the closed portières of a room on the left of the magnificent corridor. With a strangled sob, Jessie sprang toward the curtains. Impelled by sympathy she could not understand, Mrs. Dalrymple followed her footsteps. Frank Laurier was lying at ease on a sofa with one foot on a cushion--having sustained a severe sprain to one ankle that would keep him Mrs. Dalrymple’s welcome guest for several days. Some strips of court plaster on the side of his face slightly marred his beauty to an ordinary observer, but not to Jessie Lyndon, who, advancing at first with slow, awed footsteps, suddenly stopped, stared, then flew across the room to the sofa, murmuring in joyful incredulity: “Alive! Alive!” She sank on one knee, and pressed her lips tenderly on one hand that was thrown carelessly above his head. “Why, that wicked woman told me you were dead! And I--I----” the sweet voice faltered. A low, derisive laugh rang on the air, and, lifting her eyes, Jessie saw that they were not alone. It was Cora Ellyson who had laughed, as with flashing eyes she pushed Jessie away from Frank’s side. “Go away, you bold girl, how dare you force your way in here to annoy Mr. Laurier?” she cried angrily.