Morlene on entering her room, locked the door, burst into tears, buried her face in her hands, sobbed violently. Judge her not too harshly, dear reader. Allow her this brief moment of weeping over the re-opened grave of her long buried ideal; for, one glance at Dorlan Warthell, say what you will against love at sight, had somehow sufficed to tell her penetrating spirit that he was the one man, who, had she been free, could have exacted that full strength of love, which, struggle as painfully as she might, would not yield allegiance to Harry whom she had married under a species of duress. Morlene dropped her hands from her face, forced a smile to appear, stamped a pretty foot upon the floor and said between gritted teeth: "Avaunt, ye idle dreams of youth; I am a woman now, a man's lawfully wedded wife! Come not here to haunt me with visions of what might have been!" When Harry came home from his work that evening Morlene met him with a greeting of more than usual warmth, as much as to say, "Poor Harry, your place in my heart is the safer, now that my dreams of other days have been met in concrete form and gloriously vanquished." She now consoled herself with the thought that she would one day love Harry as she had always desired to love a husband. Happy in this thought, she retired to rest, and, much to her chagrin and annoyance, dreamed of the handsome stranger whom she had seen. CHAPTER X. CUPID SHOULD BE MORE CAREFUL. "This is a matter worthy of investigation," mused Dorlan Warthell, some few moments after his chance meeting with Morlene. His head was inclined forward slightly, an unwonted sparkle was in his eye, and half a smile played upon his serious face. His mind was seeking to grasp the outlines of that beautiful face which he had just passed. "Never," said he, "has Dorlan Warthell, the serious, allowed physical beauty to so charm him. But is it mere physical beauty that has so suddenly thrown itself across the pathway of my mind so that it will not move on? Has nothing met me more than that lovely form, the head of a queen, angel face, eyes that thrill? I may be mistaken, but methinks that nature has given that choice dressing to a choice spirit. At any rate I hope to meet her again." Dorlan Warthell arrived at his boarding place within a few minutes and, when seated at the supper table, spoke as follows to Mrs. Morgan, his landlady: "I notice that our street has some new denizens since the time of my sojourn here a few years ago." "Yes," replied Mrs. Morgan, "There are Mr. Crutchfield, Mr. Yearby and Mr. Dalton. These gentlemen have all come to this street since you were with us last." "Who lives in that beautiful cottage painted white, with that wonderful assortment of prettily arranged flowers in the front yard?"