So Mrs. Dunn had fallen under the spell of the traitor, and put forth all her powers to win him. He was rich, or she believed so, at least, but she thought more of him, for a wonder, than of his supposed wealth. From the first hour of their meeting she had thrown herself at his head, and she hated with a jealous, murderous hatred every other woman of his acquaintance. She pursued them with all the animosity of an unscrupulous and vindictive nature, telling falsehoods on them, and placing them in the worst light before his eyes. At length she rejoiced in becoming his betrothed, little dreaming that a score of other women were holding the same position toward him, and that the arch-villain was laughing at them all, and secretly holding them up to the derision of his friends. But later on, when she discovered all this, it did not cool the fever of her passion. She determined that he should be her husband, and for the sake of this heartless fiend even committed murder, staining her already guilty soul with a sin that would doom it to perdition. And what had all this devotion availed? Nothing! He had had no mercy on her, deserting her as coolly as he would have thrown aside a soiled glove. A sudden glare leaped into her eyes, and she thought: “I will spring into the ocean, and thus forever bury my torturing humiliation.” She started forward, then recoiled as her hand touched the steamer-rail. The glitter of her eyes, the expression of her face were terrible. “No, I will live--live for revenge!” she hissed, in an undertone of savage fury. CHAPTER XXVII. IN ITALY’S POWER. Mrs. Vale was still too ill to attend Alexie’s marriage, so she had entrusted Italy to Emmett Harlow’s care. When the carriage turned back from the station where they had been to see the bridal pair off on their wedding-tour, the young girl said: “Let us drive to Mr. Gardner’s house. I must see him at once on business of great importance.” “Willingly,” replied Emmett, who knew much more than she supposed of the affair which was taking her to the lawyer. The Vales and the Gardners were on a very friendly footing now. Mrs. Gardner was a charming woman, and had assiduously cultivated the friendship of the Vales. No arguments would have made her believe Italy’s mother a guilty woman. And she admired, above all things, the beautiful, brave girl who had undertaken what her husband believed to be such a Quixotic quest. So when Italy and Mr. Harlow were announced, Mrs. Gardner rose to greet them with beaming smiles of welcome. Italy glided in, a vision of beauty in her snowy bridemaid’s gown, her long wrap of rich golden-hued brocade bordered with fur, falling back from her shoulders, giving a glimpse of rosy-white throat and arms escaping from “lace like the hoar-frost, fine and thin.” “You beauty!” cried Mrs. Gardner, embracing her fondly and holding her so long in a close clasp that Mr. Gardner cried out humorously: “Aren’t you going to let me speak to Italy?”