Seneca, and Zeno, than stagger and groan under the load of hated, torturing years, that are about as welcome to my shoulders as the 'old man of the sea' to Sinbad's! How long?--oh, how long?" The gloomy gray eyes had kindled into a dull flicker that resembled the fitful, ghostly gleam of sheet lightning, falling through painted windows upon crumbling and defiled altars in some lonely ruined cathedral; and her low, shuddering tones, were full of a hopeless, sneering bitterness, as painfully startling and out of place in a woman's voice as would be the scream of a condor from the irised throats of brooding doves, or the hungry howl of a wolf from the tender lips of unweaned lambs. In the gloaming light of a soft gray sky powdered by a few early stars, stood this desolate gray woman, about whose face and dress there was no stain of color save the blue glitter of a large sapphire ring, curiously cut in the form of a coiled asp, with hooded head erect and brilliant diamond eyes that twinkled with every quiver of the marble-white fingers. Impatiently she turned her imperial head, when the sound of approaching steps broke the stillness; and her tone was sharp as that of one suddenly roused from deep sleep,-- "Well, Elsie! What is it?" "Tea, my child, has been waiting half-an-hour." "Then go and get your share of it. I want none." "But you ate no dinner to-day. Does your head ache?" "Oh, no; my heart jealously monopolizes that privilege!" The old woman sighed audibly, and Mrs. Gerome added,-- "Pray, do not worry yourself about me! When I feel disposed to come in I can find the way to the door. Go and get your supper." The nurse passed her wrinkled hand over the drab muslin sleeves and skirt, and touched the folds of hair. "But, my bairn, the dew is thick on your head and has taken all the starch out of your dress. Please come out of this fog that is creeping up like a serpent from the sea. You are not used to such damp air, and it might give you rheumatic cramps." "Well, suppose it should? Does not my white head entitle me to all such luxuries of old age and decrepitude? Don't bother me, Elsie." She put out her hand with a repellent gesture, but Elsie seized it, and clasping both her palms over the cold fingers, said, with irresistible tenderness,-- "Come, dearie!--come, my dearie!" Without a word Mrs. Gerome turned and followed her across the lawn and into the house, whose internal arrangement was somewhat at variance with its unpretending exterior.