In vain Mr. Revington pleaded and Mrs. Leslie added her protests. They could not persuade Irene that the ride in the fresh air would benefit her head, or that the music would cause her to forget indisposition. "I do not wish to go," she reiterated, firmly, and Mrs. Leslie wondered a little at the tears in the girl's blue eyes, as she kissed her good-night, and the more than usual fervency of her embrace. When they were all gone, and the villa was left to the occupancy of herself and the servants, Irene retired to her room. She sat down and wrote a hasty letter to Mrs. Leslie, which, after sealing and addressing, she placed in a conspicuous place on the toilet table. "She will think me unkind and ungrateful," she sighed to herself; "but what can I do?" She removed her pretty blue dinner dress, and substituted a plain, black cashmere. Then, with trembling fingers and nervous haste, she packed a change of clothing into a small hand-bag. Lastly she took out her little shell purse, and counted its contents. There was something more than a hundred dollars, the gift of her munificent friend, Mrs. Leslie. "She little thought for what purpose I would use it," sighed poor Irene. "But I have no other refuge left me!" She put the purse into her pocket, drew on a dark gray travelling ulster, and a little cap with a thick veil. Then taking the hand-bag in her little trembling hands, she stole silently as a ghost from the great house, and did not draw a free breath until she stood alone in the moonlighted garden. Then she paused and lifted her white face and tear-wet eyes to the starry sky. "If only _he_ had loved me I need not have gone," she sighed. "Ah, my husband, my darling, farewell!" Without another word she was gone, flitting away, a small, dark shadow, to mingle with the shadows of the night. * * * * * Meanwhile the party from the villa were seated in the great concert hall awaiting the appearance of the lovely American _debutante_. They occupied two boxes, and conspicuous in the foremost one was Mrs. Stuart, with her daughter and her husband. Mrs. Stuart was elegantly dressed in rose-colored satin and point lace, with magnificent diamonds. With the aid of pearl powder and rouge she had been made up by her maid into quite a beauty for this occasion. Lilia wore soft white mull and pearls. As she sat by the side of her handsome, dark-eyed father her likeness to him was marked and conspicuous. No one could have failed to see that they were father and child. Impatience was at its hight. The orchestra had rendered its overture, and been vociferously applauded by the enthusiastic Italians. Professor Bozzaotra himself had executed a magnificent violin solo, and responded twice to encores that could not be suppressed. The curtain had fallen, to rise the next time on the lovely _debutante_ whom Rumor credited with the beauty of an angel and the voice of a siren.