She rose up and began to make her toilet for the moonlight party. Some reckless mood overcame her, a longing to look fair in the eyes of this man she ought to hate--to eclipse blue-eyed Alys, who had wished her not to come. She chose an exquisite dress--warm, yet elegant--a light-blue broadcloth embroidered in silver, and clasped at the throat by the pure fire of a twinkling diamond star. She pinned back her dark curls with a silver butterfly, with diamond eyes, and placed on her head a bewitching cap, all blue and silver. Then she smiled at herself in the mirror. “This dress will be very pretty in the moonlight,” she said, and ran down to Mr. Murray. He was waiting for her in the drawing-room--alone. “Mother felt indisposed--so she has retired,” he said, not choosing to mention that there had been a scene, Mrs. Murray fighting bitterly for her own way, and--getting vanquished by her son’s calm determination. He loved his mother, he yielded to her in many things, but while she argued there was one thing that haunted him--the grieving face of Italy, with its tearful eyes and quivering red lips, as it had appeared on the threshold of the dark room where she had been weeping alone. “Poor little one, breaking her heart all alone without a friend,” he thought indignantly, and stood firm to his determination. Nay, more, when she had retired in bitter anger he went out and gathered some flowers for Italy--fragrant white carnations--and gave them to her when she appeared, radiant in her beauty, but with her brilliant eyes a little misty still with the tears that she had shed. “All ready?”--smiling. “Oh, yes.” “Come, then; the carriage is waiting.” And he drew her hand through his arm and led her out. The wheels seemed grinding Mrs. Murray’s heart as they crunched on the gravel, bearing her son away with the beautiful girl who had triumphed for this time over her foes. A proud woman seldom forgives a defeat. Mrs. Murray had pitied and tolerated Italy before, but from this hour she hated her with resentful rancor. “She has outwitted me, turned my son’s heart against me, and I will never forgive her--never!” she muttered. “And what will Mrs. Dunn say when she sees how the girl sets at naught my authority? She will think me weak as water. But I will show her, show her yet that though the girl is related to me, I will cast her off. She shall not disgrace the name of Murray by bearing it as my son’s wife!” CHAPTER IX. ITALY VALE’S SONG. As the carriage rolled away along the level beach Francis Murray said amusedly: “I think you will find the gayest party you ever encountered, Italy. There are about a dozen of them, and they have taken possession of the hull of an old wreck washed up last spring upon the beach. The girls have brought several varieties of musical instruments, and when I came away they were all singing a glee song with the whole strength of their lungs. At a little distance away it sounded quite sweet.”