“Now ask me no more. I have said more than I intended to do, and can reveal nothing further of that past which lies like a dead weight on my happiness. I must leave you to return to my son, but I will come back when you have had your breakfast served to you, and--” Cinthia was sitting up on the side of the bed, her hair a disheveled tangle of gold about her pallid face, with its great star-like eyes. They flashed with sudden pride now as she interrupted: “Let me beg you to remain away, nor seek to cross again the gulf that you say yawns between us. I am better alone with my humiliation,” bitterly. “Do not call it that, Cinthia--you do not understand! And I must take charge of you until your father comes,” insisted Mrs. Varian. “I prefer to remain alone.” “It would appear cruel in me to leave you like this, seemingly forlorn and friendless.” Cinthia laughed mirthlessly, and reiterated: “I prefer to wait alone for my father.” “Very well, I must bow to your will. God bless you, my poor girl,” and the haughty woman moved with a stately step from the room. Cinthia threw herself back upon the bed with closed eyes and pallid lips. The agony of that moment no pen could describe. Was it only two days ago she had been wishing for something to occur and break up the monotony of her life, and resenting Mrs. Flint’s homilies upon her discontent? Something had happened with a vengeance. The love that had nestled in her heart that day, a shy, sweet new-comer, had been fanned into strong, passionate life by hurrying events that now closed round her like a grasp of steel threatening to crush out all the sweetness of life forever. She had tasted the sweetness of loving and being loved, she who had been lonely and heart-hungry so long; but now the sweet cup of joy was dashed from her lips and bitter dregs offered in its stead. They had parted her from her heart’s love, Arthur. With his own lips, that so lately had sworn eternal fealty to her, he had uttered the edict of their eternal separation, for no cause save that their parents cherished an old feud. It was cruel, bitter, and Cinthia’s heart hardened with rebellion against her fate. She longed desperately for death to end the agony of love and humiliation under which she suffered. “Oh, if I could just slip away out of life now--this moment!” she cried, in fierce intolerance of her pain; and a lightning temptation came to her to end it all. She began to pace restlessly up and down the room, wondering what would be the easiest way to take her own life--her life that was so unbearable now! It would be so easy to close all the apertures for air, turn on the gas, and lie down on her bed until asphyxiation came to her relief and wrenched life out of its suffering frame.