The wicked expression of triumph that flashed in Annie's eyes quickly gave way to one of compassion and regret, on beholding the aspect of Lilian. Pale as death, with her eyes starting from their sockets, her silken curls seeming to twist like knots about her throbbing temples; her nether lip turned from crimson to blue, and quivering convulsively; her bosom heaving with the terrible and sickening sensations that oppressed it. Her little hands were firmly clenched, and her dry hot eyes were full of fire. "Again, again, read it once more, Annie," she said, in a voice of strange but exquisite cadence. "Not for worlds!" exclaimed Annie; "Oh, thou wicked letter, thus to mar our peace and hurl us into sorrow. Oh, if Craigdarroch should hear I have had a billet from my former lover, he will kindle up into such a fit of jealousy and rage as the world never saw; to the flames with it!" and she tossed into the fire the letter which poor Finland had so fondly and sorrowfully indited. It was consumed in a moment; and thus all after examination of the postscript was precluded, otherwise the forgery might have been discovered before its effects became too fatal. "A _camp follower of evil repute_! It is false--impossible--Finland hath lied! Yet--yet--a cup of water, for Heaven's sake--my throat is parched and scorching!" Lilian sank into a chair and covered her face with her hands, but neither wept nor swooned, for her sense of injury was too acute for tears. How bitter was the palsying sickness of heart--the agony she endured! Not a tear fell, for the fire that burned in her breast seemed to have absorbed them. "This is the _third_ 20th of September since he first left me. Oh, Walter, Walter, God may forgive thee this great ingratitude and cruelty, but I never can!" CHAPTER XV. THE EFFECT OF THE POSTSCRIPTUM. "Women have died and the worms have eaten them, but not for love." Long, long did poor Lilian grieve and weep, and mourn in the solitude of her gloomy home. She endured all the complicated agony of endeavouring to rend from her heart its dearest and most wonted thoughts--the hopes and affection she had fostered and cherished for years. No woman ever died for love but the heroine of a romance; so Lilian of course survived it; a month or two beheld her again tranquil and calm, though very sorrowful and subdued in spirit, for time cures every grief.