Dorcas was very pale, and her gaze was stern, and something undefinably wild in her quietude. 'What day of the month is this?' said Dorcas. 'The eighth--is not it?--yes, the eighth,' answered Rachel. 'And our marriage is fixed for the twenty-second--just a fortnight hence. I am going to tell you, Rachel, what I have resolved on.' 'How really beautiful these diamonds are!--quite superb.' 'Yes,' said Dorcas, opening the jewel-cases, which she had taken from her cabinet, one after the other. 'And these pearls! how very magnificent! I had no idea Mark Wylder's taste was so exquisite.' 'Yes, very magnificent, I suppose.' 'How charming--quite regal--you will look, Dorcas!' Dorcas smiled strangely, and her bosom heaved a little, Rachel thought. Was it elation, or was there not something wildly bitter gleaming in that smile? 'I _must_ look a little longer at these diamonds.' 'As long, dear, as you please. You are not likely, Rachel, to see them again.' From the blue flash of the brilliants Rachel in honest amazement raised her eyes to her cousin's face. The same pale smile was there; the look was oracular and painful. Had she overheard a part of that unworthy talk of Wylder's at the dinner-table, the day before, and mistaken Rachel's share in the dialogue? And Dorcas said-- 'You have heard of the music on the waters that lures mariners to destruction. The pilot leaves the rudder, and leans over the prow, and listens. They steer no more, but drive before the wind; and what care they for wreck or drowning?' I suppose it was the same smile; but in Rachel s eyes, as pictures will, it changed its character with her own change of thought, and now it seemed the pale rapt smile of one who hears music far off, or sees a vision. 'Rachel, dear, I sometimes think there is an evil genius attendant on our family,' continued Dorcas in the same subdued tone, which, in its very sweetness, had so sinister a sound in Rachel's ear. 'From mother to child, from child to grandchild, the same influence continues; and, one after another, wrecks the daughters of our family--a wayward family, and full of misery. Here I stand, forewarned, with my eyes open, determinedly following in the funereal footsteps of those who have gone their way before me. These jewels all go back to Mr. Wylder. He never can be anything to me. I was, I thought, to build up our house. I am going, I think, to lay it in the dust. With the spirit of the insane, I feel the spirit of a prophetess, too, and I see the sorrow that awaits me. You will see.' 'Dorcas, darling, you are certainly ill. What is the matter?' 'No, dear Rachel, not ill, only maybe agitated a little. You must not touch the bell--listen to me; but first promise, so help you Heaven, you will keep my secret.' 'I do promise, indeed Dorcas, I swear I'll not repeat one word you tell me.'