The former we have described before in all its wondrous beauty; the latter was an exquisite robe of silvery white moire antique, draped in billows of white tulle, looped crystallized sea-grasses and water-lilies. The perfect throat and arms were clasped with large pearls, and the golden waves of hair were banded back with a Grecian fillet of the same pure jewels. It was a trying costume; but the blue of her eyes was so deep, the sheen of her hair so goldenly bright, and the rose-hue so warm on her delicate cheek, that the unbroken white and green were perfectly relieved, and set off her charms to the greatest advantage. Her companion was talking to her earnestly, and she was listening to him with an absent smile, when Laurie Meredith first caught sight of her face. He stopped short. Jewel felt him start and tremble. She glanced into his face and saw it pale, startled, eager. A low whisper came from his lips, and her keen ear caught the burden. It was the one word: "Flower!" They were only a few yards away from the couple. Jewel pinched his arm, warningly. "Laurie!" He withdrew his eyes with difficulty from Azalia's face, and he looked down at his betrothed. "Do not stare so," she whispered, uneasily. "I warned you of the likeness, you know." With a heavy sigh he came back to himself. "Pardon me," he said, confusedly, and moved on. A meeting was inevitable now. Laurie Meredith and Azalia Brooke were face to face. Jewel's voice was uttering, not overcordially, the words of introduction. Both bowed and murmured something almost inaudible, then Jewel drew her lover on with her to a quiet spot, leaving the couple alone. That was but the beginning. They met night after night in the saloons of fashion, although Jewel contrived to keep them apart, they studied each other closely, and both were startled by the other's likeness to a dead love. Jewel was puzzled, too, by the terrible resemblance of Azalia Brooke to her dead half-sister. "If I did not know that she was dead, if I did not know what was lying in that old cellar under the noisome water, ay, if I did not know whose ghost it was that haunted the corridors of that old house, I could almost swear that this was Flower masquerading under a grand seeming," she told herself over and over, with a shudder; for Jewel's life had the stain of a dark sin on it now, and she had seen more than once or twice the vision of a light, shadowy figure all in luminous white, with floating golden hair, flitting at twilight through the corridors of her stately home. "It is Flower's spirit!" she decided, fearfully, and wondered if the murdered girl were going to haunt her all her life.