In spite of his seeming injustice to her, and the humiliation he had put upon her, something in her heart vaguely pleaded in his defense--perhaps his illness and pallor, and the keen anguish of his voice when he had said to her so sadly that they must bid each other an eternal farewell. There had been something solemn, even tragic, in that parting, almost like the farewell of death. Resentment did not have any part in its supreme despair. It was rather “As those who love Are parted by the hand of death, And one stands hushed, with reverent breath, Gazing on funeral bier and pall. But ere we close the coffin lid, Let bitter memories all be hid; If memory needs must break the spell, Remember that I loved you well, And o’er the rest let silence fall.” The lovely stranger continued earnestly; “You are young yet, and in time a new love may replace this lost one, and bring you great happiness.” “Happiness is not for me. I am ill-fated!” moaned Cinthia. “Do not feel so despondent. The young are naturally morbid. I know that by experience. I have had a great sorrow in my own life, and overlived it.” Cinthia looked at her almost incredulously, she seemed so fair and bright, and her inexperienced eyes could not read the signs of a past grief in the delicate lines about the lips and eyes. “I have overlived it, and so will you,” repeated the lady. “Tell me how to do it. Help me!” cried Cinthia, appealingly; and as the lady remained gravely silent a moment, she added: “Oh, if I could be filled with some great excitement that would occupy my thoughts, I believe I could put him out of my mind, except in very quiet moments. I was thinking just before you came in that I would like to go on the stage to become a great actress.” An expression of dismay lowered over the fair face regarding her so intently, as Cinthia continued, eagerly: “As we came to the hotel this morning, I saw through the carriage windows large posters announcing the appearance of a great actress to-night and this afternoon in a popular play. I have been thinking of her, and that I would like to have such a life. Do you think if I tried that I--might succeed?” “Ah, child, you do not know what labor and trouble would be involved in such an undertaking.” “I should not care for that--it would be what I need to turn my thoughts away from Arthur. And, indeed, the desire has taken hold on me, fascinates me. I intend to try.” “No, dear, you must not do it. It is not wise, nor desirable. I am glad that I happened in on you this morning, for there is no one more capable of advising you in this crisis of your life. I tell you stage-work is heartache and sorrow even when crowned with a little success such as Madame Ray’s, whose name you read on the posters this morning. I tell you this, and I ought to know, for I am that woman!” “You?” Cinthia cried, wide-eyed and wondering, and with a sad smile. The other answered: “Yes.”