"What is the address, did you say, Hetty?" inquired Ethel eagerly. The woman fumbled in her pocketbook and brought out a crumpled bit of paper that she spread before Ethel's eyes. "Perhaps I'll go with you to-morrow; I've another engagement for this afternoon to go walking with Miss Miller," Ethel said carelessly, and when Hetty saw her going out an hour later in a simple tailor-made suit and thick veil, she thought her young lady was going to keep her engagement, and sighed regretfully at Ethel's lack of faith in the wonderful clairvoyant seeress. But Ethel knew how to keep her own secrets. She was on her way to the woman now. She was not afraid, in spite of what Hetty had told her, for she had her sister's magnificent great mastiff along for protection--Kay, his young mistress insisted on calling him, because a beautiful young lady at the White House had one of that name. It was a dreary March afternoon with a high wind and sunless sky, and Ethel had a long walk before her, but she preferred it to riding. She was an excellent pedestrian. She reached the lonely old tumble-down brick house, and after knocking several times was admitted by a frowzy looking woman, who said that she was a fortune-teller. "I have a lover, but I fear I have lost his love. I want to know if I shall ever marry him," faltered Ethel, putting some money in the outstretched palm. "I can tell you about him, miss, but you must quiet that dog first. He is running and barking in the hall like a crazy thing, with his nose on the floor. What ails him?" uneasily. Ethel opened the door and after some difficulty induced Kay to enter. "He will be quiet now," she said, but Kay belied her words. The beautiful great fellow ran whining about the room, giving every symptom of excitement and interest. Suddenly he dipped his muzzle into a basket of trash in one corner and emitted a prolonged and dismal howl as he trotted back to Ethel. Turning in surprise she saw in his mouth a long white kid glove, very tiny, and with golden buttons. "Oh, heaven! my little sister's glove!" she cried. CHAPTER VII. "IT IS WRITTEN IN THE BOOK OF FATE THAT YOU WILL SIN AND YOU WILL SUFFER." "Man's love is like the restless waves, Ever at rise and fall; The only love a woman craves It must be all in all. Ask me no more if I regret-- You need not care to know, A woman's heart does not forget----" The fortune-teller, who was no other than Mrs. Warwick, the laundress, became terribly agitated at the finding of the glove, and the excited shriek of Ethel. "Oh, God! my sister's glove!" shrieked the girl, and the woman cowered before her, and turned ashy pale.