She was alone in the spacious and elegant parlor of Colonel Falconer’s elegant residence on Franklin Street. She wore deep, lusterless black that set off her delicate blond beauty to great advantage, and she moved with the air of some princess, so proud was her step, so haughty the curve of her white throat. “It is going to be war to the knife between us--I foresee that,” she muttered hoarsely. “I mean to make her life as disagreeable as I can, out of revenge for the evil she has wrought for me. Yes, she shall not sleep upon a bed of roses in this house! I shall be as disrespectful as I please. They dare not turn me out of the house for fear of people talking, as I am his own niece.” A few days later she received a telegram from New York, stating that Colonel Falconer and wife had arrived in that city, would remain there a week, and then come on to Richmond. Pansy had persuaded her husband to remain in New York and show her the sights of the great city. At heart she cared little for it, but it served as a pretext to delay for a little her return to her old home, and to the memories that would crowd upon her there. But at last the time was over, and no further pretext could delay her going. Pale and heartsick, she was standing on the steamer’s deck beside her husband while they rounded the last curve of James River, that brought picturesque Libby Hill into full view, with all its bittersweet memories. It was three years and a half since she had crouched on yonder hill, a forlorn little figure with wet eyes and a pale, pale face, watching the steamer bearing away her young husband on that mission which he said was to make him rich enough to claim the bride he had wedded in secret. How it all rushed over her again as she stood there by the side of her proud, rich husband, and listened mechanically as he pointed out with pride and enthusiasm the beauties of the river and the land. “How glad I am to be in Virginia again!” he exclaimed; but Pansy’s smile was sadder than tears. Juliette had sent the family carriage, with its high-stepping bay horses, to meet them, and soon they were borne swiftly toward their home; but while Colonel Falconer’s thoughts went toward Franklin Street and its aristocratic environments, his fair young bride was thinking of the humble house on Church Hill, where her mother was mourning the loss of her youngest born--the household pet. “Oh, mother, mother, mother, if only I dared go to you in your sorrow!” was the cry of her heart. But she knew that she must remain dead to that beloved mother. There was her husband and her position to be considered, and there was Willie, who had sworn in his wrath to kill the sister who had brought disgrace on a respectable family. Her own safety, if nothing else, demanded silence. “Here we are, my darling, at home!” exclaimed Colonel Falconer’s voice, seeming to come from far away, so intently had she been brooding over her sorrows.