"DEAR PRECIOUS:--Do not by any means go to Hetty. I have just received a message that she is dead. You can do her no good now. Come back immediately in carriage with Laura. I want you at once. ETHEL." When the messenger had gone Ethel fell on her knees beside a chair sobbing wildly: "Would my mother's God listen if I tried to pray? Dare one so wicked as I am pray that her own cruel plans may miscarry, and that not one hair of that little golden head be harmed by the fiend who tempted me to evil?" Her bosom rose and fell with choking sobs, the tears poured down her white cheeks, her slender hands clasped each other in convulsive writhings. "Dear God, have pity on me, a sinner!" she moaned. "Save Precious, save me, from the consequences of my guilty act! Oh! I repent, I repent! have mercy, Heaven!" Her whole soul was shaken with remorse and grief at thought of the fate to which she had doomed her innocent, loving sister. "Betrayed into the hands of a fiend who will murder her unless she becomes his unwilling bride! What a horrible fate for that gentle heart that sacrificed its dearest hopes for me!" she thought, and bowed her face on her shaking hands. And ever on her lips burned like fire that parting kiss, and in her ears rang the loving farewell words. Their memory would not down. "If she had not kissed me, if only she had not kissed me, I should not have repented; I would have saved myself at her expense; but now, now, let the blow fall on me, and I--and I can die, for there is nothing left in this world but misery and disgrace for poor Ethel!" was her bitter cry. Suddenly the door opened and Laura flew in with the unopened letter. "Miss Precious was not there!" she panted. "Madame said she had gone out to match some ribbons, but the carriage was there waiting, and I told John to watch for her and bring her back as soon as she returned. Oh, Miss Ethel, dear, you're ill again!" for with a shriek that rang to heaven Ethel flung out her arms and sank senseless on the floor. CHAPTER XXXIV. "MY BRIDE OR THE BRIDE OF DEATH!" "And like Communists, as mad, as disloyal, My fierce emotions roam out of their lair; They hate King Reason for being loyal, They would fire his castle and burn him there. O, Love, they would clasp you, and crush you, and kill you, In the insurrection of control.... And there is no fear, and hell has no terror To change or alter a love like mine."--E. W. W.