“I am grateful, Miss Wilton, for your kind reception, but to-night, at least, I do not claim it for myself. I have one poor sorrowful heart here with me for whom I entreat your warm interest; she needs it. To ensure your sympathy, I may only suggest that Lotte Clinton”---- Not a word more. Flora was at the side of Lotte in an instant, with her arm round her waist. The bright rays of the lamp fell upon the thin, white, wasted features of the poor, half-fainting creature. Flora had last seen her a roundfaced, pretty, lively, laughing girl. What a dreadful change did she now behold! She burst into tears. She twined her arms about Lotte’s shoulders; she laid her cold wan face upon her own warm bosom. “Oh Lotte, Lotte, dear, dear Lotte, what has happened?” she murmured, through her streaming tears; “why are are you so dreadfully changed? Confide in me as in a sister--pray, pray do; oh, my heart aches to see you thus; indeed, Lotte, it does; in very truth, it does.” Why, had Flora been grand, had she played the lady, had she offered to take the case presented to her by Hal at an early moment, and promised to do something, Lotte might have been pierced to the heart--but she would then have stood up bravely and haughtily--have declined the intended favour, though she consigned herself to destitution by the act; but to be caught thus to Flora’s heart--to be embraced--to have poured into her ears expressions of tender sympathy--to feel upon her cheeks the tears of human pity, which had the essence of divine pity--to feel, to be convinced that the tender commiseration which Flora--though unknowing the circumstances--had exhibited for her was sincere--it was all--all!--more than she could bear; she sank at Flora’s feet, embraced her knees, tried to ejaculate her gratefulness, tried to tell that now, indeed, she felt herself lifted out of despair and degradation; but exhausted nature refused to do more, and she fell back upon the carpet in a swoon. Hal, who had walked to the end of the apartment, half choked in his efforts to repress the tears which would flow into his eyes, now, at a sudden cry from the lips of Flora, rushed forward, and raised Lotte from the ground, while Flora rang the bell, which brought into the apartment her maid--a young, but strong, good looking, and seemingly good-humoured girl. Flora beckoned to her. “Help me to bear this young lady into my dressing-room,” she said; “she has fainted; be very gentle and tender in your movements, Mercy, for she is very ill.” “Poor dear young lady,” said the girl, gazing upon Lotte’s ghastly features. “She do look bad, surely.”