But, however much she worried, she could see no way out of the dilemma. Foster had been abruptly parted from Cinthia before he had taught her to love him, and she saw no safe way of bringing them together again in the present. Time alone could solve the problem. It was a great disappointment not to be able to take Cinthia to Newport, where she knew that the girl’s grace and beauty would create a sensation; but, of course, it was not to be thought of now. Cinthia and Arthur Varian must be kept apart for the sake of the young girl’s peace of mind. But how handsome and manly he had looked--not at all like the weak coward Madame Ray deemed him. She found herself dwelling with pleasure on his handsome face and form, his dark-blue eyes, and brown, clustering hair. “Much after the style of Cinthia’s handsome father. I fancy he might have looked like that when he was a young man, before the gray came into his brown locks, and the anxious lines into his face,” she mused, thoughtfully; and her eyes grew grave, and her cheek pale with a sudden, startling thought that made her exclaim: “Good heavens! _could_ it be?” The line of thought thus started was most distressing, as evinced by the agitation of her face, and presently she muttered: “There may be a mystery, after all. I will try to get at the bottom of it.” Meanwhile, Cinthia, struggling with the heartache renewed by her encounter with her lost love, or her false love, as she preferred to call him, made a great effort to throw off the weight on her spirits and become herself again. “One struggle more, and I am free From pangs that rend my heart in twain. One last farewell to love and thee, Then back to busy, life again. It suits me well to mingle now With things that never pleased before; Now every joy is fled below, What future grief can touch me more? “By many a shore, and many a sea, Divided, loving all in vain, The past, the future, fled to thee, To bid us meet--no--ne’er again! ’Tis silent all; but on my ear The well-remembered echoes thrill; I hear a voice I would not hear, A voice that now might well be still.” Cinthia could not thrust Arthur’s image from her heart however much she tried and longed to do so. She could wear the mask of pride over her sorrow, that was all. Her father hoped and believed that she was overcoming her trouble, and would have rejoiced as much as Madame Ray if she could have transferred her heart to Frederick Foster. He who had known the pangs of wounded love so well was eager to find a cure for his daughter’s heart. But all chance of this had been temporarily frustrated by her unexpected _rencontre_ with Arthur Varian. He felt that all the old ground would have to be gone over now again, and cursed the evil fates that had worked against him.