Leola, still playing with her roses, in bashful confusion, looked down with the curly lashes sweeping her rosy cheeks, and told her story briefly, sweetly, and with the simplicity of strong emotion, dwelling but lightly on her own heroism in saving Ray Chester’s life, and touching, reservedly, on their love-story, but bringing into prominence his confession that he had fallen so desperately in love with her pictures that he had come to seek her and offer his love. She concluded, gently: “And although Ray has never once mentioned your name, he did not deny it when I said that I was sure it was you from whom he got the pictures; and, Jessie, dear, I am so glad you took those little snap-shots of me, for through them has come the happiness of my life, and I shall always be glad Ray saw them and loved me!” The musical voice ceased speaking, but as Jessie made no answer, Leola added, ardently: “He is only a poor artist, my darling Ray, but I am glad, after all, that he is poor, for he knows I love him for himself alone, for ‘his own true worth,’ as the poem says, you know, Jessie.” She gave a violent start when Miss Stirling answered, in a hoarse, concentrated voice of hatred and bitterness: “You are a silly little fool, Leola Mead!” “Oh, Jessie!” and Leola’s voice trembled with wounded feeling. She looked up and saw that her companion was deadly pale and trembling. “Oh, what is the matter? Are you ill, Jessie? Have I wearied you with my story?” Miss Stirling was very cunning, or very brave. She had got a heart wound, but she would not cry out against the hand that struck the blow; after that one passionate outburst she struggled for calmness. With a hollow laugh, she answered: “I am very, very tired, after my long journey from New York, and the sun is very hot, but--I shall be better presently.” “Shall I go and bring you a little sip of wine?” urged Leola, and Jessie assented. She was glad to be alone for one moment, to cry out aloud at the fate that had parted her from the man she loved. “Mamma was right, and I was wrong. He was in love with her, after all, and he came here, instead of going yachting, as he intended--came here to woo this simple rustic, won by her wondrous beauty, that was more dangerous than I dreamed! But he shall never marry Leola Mead--never! Why, I think I would murder her first! And what will he say when he finds me here? Above all, why is he masquerading under a false name, and pretending to be a poor artist? Ah, I have it! He means to deceive the silly girl; his intentions are dishonorable, but I will unmask him, I will break up the affair, I swear it!” clenching her white hands desperately. Leola came back with the wine and a biscuit, and Jessie accepted, eagerly. “Wine always clears my brain, somehow, and I have got a lot of scheming and planning to do,” she thought, as she drained the last drop and munched the sweet biscuit.