She had heard Dr. Winthrop speak of his brother, but she had never been told that he was a twin, nor that the resemblance between the two was so strong that their most intimate friends had difficulty in distinguishing between them. And, strange as it may seem, she had never encountered Norman Winthrop during all her nursing in the villa. The rooms occupied by the various invalids were in different portions of the extensive building, and the nurses in charge were confined exclusively to their separate patients. During her previous sojourn there, after Mr. Winthrop’s death, Salome had devoted herself to Evelyn, who was the most dangerously ill of those who recovered. Norman Winthrop had nursed the butler, under his brother’s direction and with his help, while the other nurses had attended Madame Winthrop and the Rochesters. Salome scarcely left Evelyn’s room until she was out of danger. Her meals were served in a small ante-chamber adjoining, and she also slept there during her hours for rest, Mrs. Rochester relieving her during such times. Since Dr. Winthrop’s illness, his brother had not seemed quite himself, and the physician had forbidden him to go near the sick man, saying he was liable to contract the disease and must use every precaution against it; so Mr. Tillinghast had relieved Salome when she needed rest, and had been very helpful and considerate at other times. Thus she had never seen Norman Winthrop near enough to realize his wonderful resemblance to his brother, and it is not strange that she was deceived regarding the identity of Miss Rochester’s ardent lover. It was a pity that she had not remained in Mrs. Rochester’s room a few moments longer and heard the conclusion of the interview; she would at least have suffered less by learning the truth. “Hush!” Miss Rochester said, just after Salome had fled from the scene; “you must not talk to me like this—I must not listen, and you know why.” Norman Winthrop’s arms dropped from the supple form, which he had clasped to him in a passionate embrace when the girl had owned her love for him. “You do not mean that, Sadie, after what you have confessed to me,” he said sternly. “But I do. I ought never to have betrayed myself, but you wrung it from me,” she returned, with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes. “Am I to understand that you still consider yourself bound by that wretched contract—that you intend to marry my brother, when you have told me that you love me?” “Yes, I must.” “Why?” “You know; I must forfeit Brookside and a hundred thousand dollars if I do not, and there will be nothing left for mamma and me but the income of that paltry fifty thousand dollars.” Norman Winthrop groaned.