“Yes, do,” Katy replied, adjusting her dress and trying to arrange the matted curls, which were finally confined in a net until Esther’s more practiced hands were ready to attack them, then sending Esther from the room Katy took the picture of Genevra from the table where Wilford had laid it. CHAPTER XXXIV. THE EFFECT. Very cautiously the lid was opened, and a lock of soft brown hair fell out, clinging to Katy’s hand and making her shudder as she shook off the silken tress and remembered that the head it once adorned was lying in St. Mary’s churchyard, where the English daisies grew. “She had pretty hair,” she thought; “darker, richer than mine,” and into Katy’s heart there crept a feeling akin to jealousy, lest Genevra had been fairer than herself, as well as better loved. “I won’t be foolish any longer,” she said, and turning resolutely to the light, she opened the lid again and saw Genevra Lambert, starting quickly, then looking again more closely—then, with a gasp, panting for breath; while like lightning flashes the past came rushing over her, as, with her eyes fixed upon that picture, she tried to whisper, “_It is—it is!_” She could not then say whom, for if she were right in her belief, Genevra was not dead. There were no daisies growing on her grave, for she still walked the earth a living woman, whom Katy knew so well—_Marian Hazelton_. That was the name Katy could not speak, as, with the blood curdling in her veins and freezing about her heart, she sat comparing the face she remembered so well with the one before her. In some points they were unlike, for thirteen years had slightly marred the youthful contour of the face she knew once—had sharpened the features and thinned the abundant hair; but still there could be no mistake. The eyes, the brow, the smile, the nose, all were the same, and with a pang bitterer than she yet had felt, poor Katy fell upon her face and asked that she might die. In her utter ignorance of law, she fancied that if Genevra were alive, she had no right to Wilford’s name—no right to be his wife—especially as the sin for which Genevra was divorced had by her never been committed, and burning tears of bitter shame ran down her cheeks as she whispered, “‘What God has joined together let no man put asunder,’ Those are God’s words, and how dare the world act otherwise? she _is_ his wife, and I—oh! I don’t know what I am!” and on the carpet where she was kneeling Katy writhed in agony as she tried to think what she must do. Not stay there—she could not do that now—not, at least, until she knew for sure that she was Wilford’s wife, in spite of Genevra’s living. “Oh, if there was only some one to advise me—some one who knew and would tell me what was right,” Katy moaned, feeling herself inadequate to meet the dark hour alone.