She was interrupted by a gentle rap at the door—not of the parlor, but of the chamber. She arose and feebly crossed both rooms, and laid her hand upon the latch just as the voice of Susan spoke softly— “Are you awake, dear lady?” For reply, she opened the door and admitted her attendant. “Dear Madam, how long and soundly you must have slept! Here I have been to the door three times since sunset, and found all quiet,” said the girl, who had no suspicion that her mistress had lain an hour in a swoon. As Lady Montressor made no comment, Susan said— “Miss Brande is in the hall waiting to bid you good-by, my lady, as she returns on board of her vessel to-night.” “Ask her to come in,” said Estelle, in a voice so hollow that Susan started with the impression that it was the graveyard spectre that spoke close to her ear. Recovering her self-possession, she went out to obey, and soon returned, bringing lights, and preceding Miss Brande. Susan set the lights down, handed a chair to the visitor, and retired. “You have seen him this evening, Miss Brande?” “No, dear lady, I have not. He remained in the forest until sunset, when he returned and went immediately on board of the ship. I have been on the premises here all day, and so have not seen him.” “I think we may be sure now that I am safe from discovery.” “Yes, Madam, for he evinces no curiosity about my lady tenant, although, having been engaged in shooting through her woods, he has very properly sent her a fine bunch of game. Old Neptune brought it.” As Barbara had only come to say “Good-bye,” and as she was in haste to return to her vessel, she took leave of Lady Montressor, and with sincere prayers for her consolation and happiness, prepared to depart. She had not gone many steps from the room, however, before the plaintive voice of the lady recalled her. “Miss Brande, forgive me, but at what hour do you sail?” “At sunrise, to-morrow morning, Madame.” “Thank you. May Heaven send you a happy voyage.” “And you—peace and consolation, lady.” And so they parted. That evening, Lady Montressor, scarcely having tasted her supper, soon dismissed her attendant, and closed herself up in her two rooms. And when the house was still, she went and sat at the window, looking out at sea, and watching the white sails of the vessel that bore within its bulwarks her beloved. Hour after hour she sat there, until the moon sank below the horizon, leaving the earth and sea in utter darkness. Then she arose and paced the floor of that desolate room, hour after hour, until the dawn of morning faintly appeared in the east. Then again she seated herself at the window, and with her head resting heavily upon her hand, she watched until the brightening day once more, for a few moments, gave the sails of the departing vessel to her longing eyes.