And, ere she went to bed that night, Eveline, poor girl, strove to pray that she might have some guide or assistance up the stony and thorny path which she feared was before her now in life; but she no longer now had the deep and unbroken sleep that had ever been her lot the moment her soft cheek touched the pillow. Too nervous to sleep alone, she crept in beside Olive, and, nestling her little face in the white bosom of her cousin, wept long and bitterly. But events were now to occur that caused even the brilliant proposal of Sir Paget to be forgotten. END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN MACDONALD, BLENHEIM HOUSE.