bernardine did not have much time to study the portrait, for all of a sudden she heard footsteps in the corridor without, and in another moment mrs. king, the housekeeper, had crossed the threshold, and approached her excitedly.

"i feared you would be apt to make this mistake," she said, breathlessly. "your room is in the opposite direction, miss moore."

bernardine was about to turn away with a few words of apology, but the housekeeper laid a detaining hand on her arm.

"do not say that you found your way into this apartment, miss moore," she said, "or it might cause me considerable trouble. this is the only room in the house that is opened but once a year, and only then to air it.

"this is young master's room," went on the housekeeper, confidentially, "and when he left home, after quite a bitter scene with his mother, the key was turned in the lock, and we were all forbidden to open it. that is young master's portrait, and an excellent likeness it is of him, too.

"the whole house was recently thrown into consternation by a letter being received from him, saying that he was about to bring home his bride. his mother and sister took his marriage very much to heart. the bride is beautiful, we hear; but, as is quite natural, i suppose his mother thinks a queen on her throne would have been none too good for her handsome son.

"my lady has had very little to say since learning that he would be here on the 20th—that is to-morrow night; and his sister, miss margaret, is equally as silent.

"i think it will be better to give you another room than the one i had at first intended," said mrs. king. "please follow me, and i will conduct you to it."

bernardine complied, though the desire was strong upon her to fly precipitately from the house, and out into the darkness of the night—-anywhere—anywhere, so that she might escape meeting jay gardiner and his bride.

up several flights of carpeted polished stairs, through draughty passages, along a broad corridor, down another passage, then into a huge, gloomy room, bernardine followed her, a war of conflicting emotions surging through her heart at every step.

"you have plenty of room, you see," said the housekeeper, lighting the one gas-jet the apartment contained.

"plenty!" echoed bernardine, aghast, glancing about her in dismay at the huge, dark, four-poster bed in a far-off corner, the dark dresser, which seemed to melt into the shadows, and the three darkly outlined windows, with their heavy draperies closely drawn, that frowned down upon her.

"you must not be frightened if you hear odd noises in the night. it's only mice. this is the old part of the mansion," said the housekeeper, turning to go.

"am i near any one else?" asked bernardine, her heart sinking with a strange foreboding which she could not shake off.

"not very near," answered the housekeeper.

"would no one hear me if i screamed?" whispered bernardine, drawing closer to her companion, as though she would detain her, her frightened eyes burning like two great coals of fire.

"i hope you will not make the experiment, miss moore," returned the housekeeper, impatiently. "good-night," and with that she is gone, and bernardine is left—alone.

the girl stands quite still where the housekeeper has left her long after the echo of her footsteps has died away.

she is in his home, and he is coming here with his bride! great god! what irony of fate led her here?

her bonnet and cloak are over her arm.

"shall i don them, and fly from this place?" she asks herself over and over again.

but her tired limbs begin to ache, every nerve in her body begins to twitch, and she realizes that her tired nature has endured all it can. she must stay here, for the night at least.

despite the fatigue of the previous night, bernardine awoke early the next morning, and when the housekeeper came to call her, she found her already dressed.

"you are an early riser, miss moore," she said. "that is certainly a virtue which will commend itself to my mistress, who rises early herself. you will come at once to her boudoir. follow me, miss moore."

she reached mrs. gardiner's boudoir before she was aware of it, so intent were her thoughts. that lady was sitting at a small marble table, sipping a cup of very fragrant coffee. a small, very odorous broiled bird lay on a square of browned toast on a silver plate before her. she pushed it aside as bernardine entered.

"good-morning, miss moore," she said, showing a trifle more kindliness than she had exhibited on the previous evening; "i hope you rested well last night. sit down."

bernardine complied; but before she could answer these commonplace, courteous remarks, an inner door opened, and a lady, neither very young nor very old, entered the room.

"good-morning, mamma," she said; and by that remark bernardine knew that this was jay's sister.

she almost devoured her with eager eyes, trying to trace a resemblance in her features to her handsome brother.

"margaret, this is my new companion, miss moore," said mrs. gardiner, languidly.

bernardine blushed to the roots of her dark hair, as two dark-blue eyes, so like jay's, looked into her own.

"welcome to gardiner castle, miss moore," replied margaret gardiner.

she did not hold out her hand, but she looked into the startled young face with a kindly smile and a nod. whatever her thoughts were in regard to her mother's companion, they were not expressed in her face.

a score of times during the half hour that followed, bernardine tried to find courage to tell mrs. gardiner that she must go away; that she could not live under that roof and meet the man she loved, and who was to bring home a bride.

but each time the words died away on her lips. then suddenly, she could not tell how or when the feeling entered her heart, the longing came to her to look upon the face of the young girl who had gained the love she would have given her very life—ay, her hope of heaven—to have retained.