“Oh, my darling, my darling!” broke from his lips in a despairing moan. Then he let his hands fall and looked up at the bright sky which shone through the thick branches of the trees. “Something I can save you from, something of the shame, the misery; but yet how little, how little! Oh, my darling! my poor, poor darling!” and in his burning eyes the hot tears gathered--tears wrung from his heart by the thought of the anguish which awaited her. “Yes, something I can save you and I will! I can save you from him even now! Thank God, thank God it is not too late!” The thought restored him somewhat, and struggling for self-command, he looked around him. A small, shining object lying on the moss caught his eyes. It was the revolver which had dropped from Bradstone’s nerveless hand. Faradeane took it up and looked at it absently. He thought a moment. Then he took out his penknife and scratched some initials on the glittering surface of the weapon. He glanced down at his clothes as he did so, and a shudder ran through him. Two or three red spots stared up at him from his white wristband; there were similar spots on his coat and waistcoat. He dropped on the trunk of the fallen tree, and with clasped hands and set face--waited! And the sun streamed through the trees brightly, the birds flitted over the accursed spot with joyous trills, and, but for the music of their song, the echo of the villagers’ voices, and the ringing of the wedding bells, all was silent. * * * * * Olivia started awake with a low cry of fear, as Bessie’s gentle hand and loving voice aroused her. “It’s time, miss,” she said, regretfully. “I’m sorry; I waited till the last moment----” “I’m ready,” said Olivia, rising pale and wearily. “Have I been asleep long, Bessie?” She tried to smile, but her strength of will, great as it was, failed her, and the smile was a look of agony. Bessie turned away and caught up the traveling dress. “Oh, try, try and keep up, miss!” she said, in a low, imploring voice. “Let me get you something--a little wine?” Olivia shook her head. “No, no; I do not want it. Don’t be afraid,” and she laid her hand on Bessie’s. “If I have kept up till now, I can----” Bessie trembled at the stony, icelike touch, and went on with her work. “I--I shall go down with you, miss,” she whispered. “Yes, keep with me, dear,” said Olivia, calmly now. “Don’t”--her lips quivered--“don’t leave me alone with my father.” Bessie understood the prayer. Her beloved mistress might endure all else on this day, but not a scene with the father she loved so passionately and was leaving. “Yes, miss, I understand,” she murmured. “Shall we go down?” said Olivia, as Bessie put on her hat. “I am ready!” and she raised her eyes to the glass mechanically. The sight of her white, deathlike face startled her. “I--I look as if I were going to die,” she said, dully. “Oh, if it were but true! If I could die now--now!” and a spasm convulsed her face.