Before Olivia went to bed she had a visit from her. She received her with some embarrassment, it must be confessed. Day by day she felt less at ease with her and more deeply self-convicted of some blundering,--which, to a young woman of her temperament, was a sharp penalty. Louisiana would not sit down. She revealed her purpose in coming at once. "I want to ask you to make me a promise," she said, "and I want to ask your pardon." "Don't do that," said Olivia. "I want you to promise that you will not tell your brother the truth until you have left here and are at home. I shall go away very soon. I am tired of what I have been doing. It is different from what you meant it to be. But you must promise that if you stay after I have gone--as of course you will--you will not tell him. My home is only a few miles away. You might be tempted, after thinking it over, to come and see me--and I should not like it. I want it all to stop here--I mean my part of it. I don't want to know the rest." Olivia had never felt so helpless in her life. She had neither self-poise, nor tact, nor any other daring quality left. "I wish," she faltered, gazing at the girl quite pathetically, "I wish we had never begun it." "So do I," said Louisiana. "Do you promise?" "Y-yes. I would promise anything. I--I have hurt your feelings," she confessed, in an outbreak. She was destined to receive a fresh shock. All at once the girl was metamorphosed again. It was her old ignorant, sweet, simple self who stood there, with trembling lips and dilated eyes. "Yes, you have!" she cried. "Yes, you have!" And she burst into tears and turned about and ran out of the room. CHAPTER VI. THE ROAD TO THE RIGHT. The morning after, Ferrol heard an announcement which came upon him like a clap of thunder. After breakfast, as they walked about the grounds, Olivia, who had seemed to be in an abstracted mood, said, without any preface: "Miss Rogers returns home to-morrow." Laurence stopped short in the middle of the path. "To-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Oh, no." He glanced across at Louisiana with an anxious face. "Yes," she said, "I am going home." "To New York?" "I do not live in New York." She spoke quite simply, but the words were a shock to him. They embarrassed him. There was no coldness in her manner, no displeasure in her tone, but, of course, he understood that it would be worse than tactless to inquire further. Was it possible that she did not care that he should know where she lived? There seemed no other construction to be placed upon her words. He flushed a little, and for a few minutes looked rather gloomy, though he quickly recovered himself afterward and changed the subject with creditable readiness. "Did not you tell me she lived in New York?" he asked Olivia, the first time they were alone together. "No," Olivia answered, a trifle sharply. "Why New York, more than another place?"