"We have only you left, dear one; we will have to love you more than ever; will we not, Paul?" she murmured, but with a stifled exclamation he left the room. In his heart there was no forgiveness for his heartless daughter. "You look tired, my dear. This excitement has wearied you. Go now to your room," Mrs. Winans said, kissing her a tender good-night. "You must rest and sleep." "I am very tired," Ethel answered listlessly, as she turned away, crushing between her teeth some words that sounded like, "I should like to sleep--forever!" CHAPTER XL. ETHEL'S VICTORY. "The fairest hope is the one which faded, The brightest leaf is the leaf that fell; The song that leaped from the lips of sirens Dies away in an old sea-shell. Clear and pure is the west wind's murmur That croons in the branches all day long; But the songs unsung are the sweetest music, And the dreams that die are the soul of song." --ERNEST MCGAFFEY. The family slept late next morning after the fatigues and griefs of last night, and Ethel did not join her parents at breakfast. But an hour later her maid came to the library with a message. Would her parents see her in her boudoir for a few minutes? An angry frown came to Senator Winans' brow. "I am obliged to go down to the capitol; I have no time for Ethel," he said curtly. But the beautiful wife he worshiped so tenderly drew her arm through his, whispering fondly, "Come," and he could not gainsay her imperial will. Ethel was lying back wearily in a large armchair in her luxurious boudoir, with its furnishings of rose and gold. Her attire was peculiar. She wore a long, straight black gown, very simple and severe in style, and a long black lace scarf was wound turban fashion about her regal brow, concealing every thread of her rich dark hair. As the door closed she motioned them to seats, and said abruptly: "I have sent for you to ask your leave to enter a convent--to become a nun!" "Ethel!" "Ethel!" The cry came first from the mother's lips, and was echoed by the father. Shocked surprise was in both voices. She stood up tall and stately confronting them, her face corpse-white by contrast with her black attire and somber dark eyes. In an anguished voice she cried: "I have sinned deeply, I am not worthy of your love, mamma, papa! I wish to retire into a convent and spend my life in expiating my sin!" "I will never consent," Senator Winans exclaimed sternly. "You have behaved badly, shamefully, but you can repent at home as well as within convent walls." She flung herself on her knees at his feet, a tragic despair on the dusky beauty of her dark face.