"We may be friends at least?" he queries, trying to look into the eyes that meet his unwillingly. And "always, I hope," she answers, as they reach the piazza steps. Mrs. Winans is at the piano singing for her hostess. A dumb agony settles down on Lulu's racked heart as the rich, sweetly trained voice floats out to them as they ascend the steps, blending its music with the deep melancholy notes of old ocean in the plaintive words of an old song that is a favorite of Mrs. Conway's: "Oh! never name departed days, Nor vows you whispered then, O'er which too sad a feeling plays To trust their tones again. Regard their shadows round you cast As if we ne'er had met-- And thus, unmindful of the past, We may be happy yet." "Let us take that for an augury, little one," he says, cheerfully; "'we may be happy yet.'" CHAPTER XVIII. "OTHER REFUGE HAVE I NONE." "There's a stone--the Asbestos--that flung in the flame, Unsullied comes forth with a color more sure-- Thus shall virtue, the victim of sorrow and shame, Refined by the trial, forever endure." --OSGOOD. Mrs. Winans sat in her dressing-room before the mirror in the softest of easy-chairs, the daintiest of dressing-gowns, under the skillful hands of Norah, whom she had retained as her personal attendant. It was a chilly night in November, but a soft warmth pervaded the rooms, which were heated by Latrobe stoves in the basement of the house, and the light, and fragrance, and beauty within seemed even more delightful by contrast with the cold winds that whistled sharply and sullenly without. A look of sadness was noticeable on Norah's rosy face as with gentle touches she brushed out the long curls of Grace's hair that crinkled and waved in spite of all effort to straighten it. "Norah," Mrs. Winans had said, a moment before, "it is the fifteenth day of November--do you recollect? Little Paul--dear little baby--is two years old to-night." "And sure did I not recollect?" answered Norah, brushing away a quick-starting tear; "but did not speak of it to you hoping it had escaped your own memory." "As if I could forget," murmured Grace, looking down, and beginning to slip the diamond ring that blazed on her taper finger nervously off and on; "as if I could forget." "'Tis so strange he can't be found," mused Norah, keeping time to her words with the brush that she was plying on that lovely hair, "and such a great reward offered by his father for his restoration--forty thousand dollars--why that's a fortune itself. Mrs. Winans, have you heard nothing of the matter lately?"