the arlingtons had a grand ball in honor of miss arlington's twenty-first birthday, which rose said wasn't fair, as everard didn't have one on his. mrs. arlington, always celebrated for the taste and elegance displayed at her parties, has almost surpassed all former occasions in the magnificent arrangement of everything.

isabel wore a plain white dress, and jet ornaments. a single flower adorned her hair; and the usual, rather sad expression of her countenance, was exchanged for one of greater animation. the excitement of the occasion had given an unwonted glow to her cheeks. she did, indeed, look lovely, as she stood engaged in lively conversation with emily, while they were waiting in the drawing-room to receive the guests; and so everard thought, who stood talking with his father, while his eyes rested admiringly upon isabel's sweet face.

after the greater part of the guests had arrived, and the dancing fairly commenced, isabel, who had been waltzing, returned to the drawing-room. she was scarcely seated, when, to her utter amazement, she saw louis taschereau enter. oh, how her heart throbbed at the unexpected meeting! here was louis, her own louis, actually in the room. it was annoying, that after being parted so long, they should first meet in a crowded ball-room.--never mind; she was only too glad to have him there. he looked so well, so bright and happy, as he made his way through the crowd, with the proud bearing and haughty mien in which she delighted. how long would it be before he reached her?--oh, that the room were smaller, or that she had been nearer the door. it seemed an age while he was shaking hands with mrs. arlington. but who is that pretty girl on his arm? could it be his cousin marie? he has taken her to a seat, and is moving down the room. the hot blood rushed to her cheeks. someone asked her to dance. "oh, not yet," she replied, scarcely heeding who it was that asked her. louis sees her, and is coming towards her. how her heart bounded, her joy and happiness was so great. she hid her glowing face behind her fan, to conceal her confusion. another moment and he was by her side, greeting her cordially. "oh, louis," and she smiled upon him, o so sweetly. "you did not expect to see me to-night," he said, looking very contented and triumphant. but there was something in the expression of his face which she did not like--something that seemed to freeze up all the warmth of her feelings in an instant. was it that he thought she was too ready to show what she felt, with so many present who might observe any unusual degree of pleasure on her part. oh, surely not, for she had been so careful--as careful as it was in human nature to be.

"was that your cousin," she asked, "that you brought with you?"

"no! that--is--my wife--" he said, with a look of triumph.

"your wife! why, what do you mean?" she inquired, thinking he was jesting.

"just what i say," he replied. then, with insufferable insolence, he hissed in her ear, "louis taschereau never forgives."

"indeed," she answered, assuming an air of indifference that surprised even herself; for she had felt the hot, indignant blood, coursing through her veins.

"really," he said, with cool effrontery, "that assumption of indifference is sublime. but i am not deceived," he continued, with a scornful laugh; "my revenge is most complete, my plans have been entirely successful," and making her a low bow, he retired. and isabel was left to her own thoughts. but this would not do; she must not--dare not--think; she must have excitement until she could be quite alone. fortunately, harry now claimed her as his partner. "oh, harry," she said, "i am so tired of sitting here."

"why, i asked you for the last dance, and you wouldn't come," answered harry, laughing.

"i didn't think it would have lasted so long," she returned.

"do you know that louis is here?" he inquired.

"yes."

"don't you think his wife pretty?"

"very."

harry knew that louis had always been a favorite with isabel, but the remotest idea of the real state of the case never for a moment occured to him.

when the dance was over, they went out on the glass extension room. presently harry said abruptly:

"isabel, i really thought that you would have been mrs. taschereau."

"harry!"

"i did, indeed."

"harry, don't," she said imploringly.

just then everard and emily came in, and at the next dance they exchanged partners. as they passed under the hall lamp, everard remarked the extreme palor of her countenance. "you are ill, miss leicester," he said. you should not have remained so long in that cold place. let me get you a glass of wine."

"oh no, thanks. i shall soon get warm with dancing."

"i don't think that you should attempt this galop. you look too ill; indeed you do."

"i intend to dance it, mr. arlington; but if you do not wish too, i can have another partner." everard looked so sad and reproachful as she said this, that she felt sorry for the hasty words. she knew they had been harsh, and he had said nothing but what was kind--nothing to deserve anything so severe. but then she dare not sit during a single dance; she could not, would not, rest a moment. she was making a great effort to 'keep up,' and it was only by a continual struggle that she could succeed. however, everard had no more cause for uneasiness on account of her looking ill, as they had scarcely entered the ball-room before her brilliant color had returned. isabel was decidedly the belle of the evening; and for this, grace arlington never forgave her. everard saw that isabel's gaiety was assumed, and he would have given much to know the cause. harry was not so keen an observer, and only thought how much she was enjoying herself, and how much he had been mistaken in thinking that she cared anything about louis.

oh the weary, weary length of that dreadful evening. isabel thought that it would never end. but she kept up splendidly. once she unexpectedly found louis her vis a vis--then came the master-piece of the evening. she looked superb, as with graceful dignity she glided through the quadrille. she avoided touching his hand, except when it was inevitable; but she did it so naturally, that to others it did not appear premeditated. he spoke to her, but she passed on as though she did not hear. once again, before the dance was ended, he ventured to address her; but she replied with grave dignity, "we must meet as strangers: henceforth i shall not know you, dr. taschereau."

louis foamed with rage at the cool contempt conveyed in these words. he ground his teeth, and swore to be revenged. at last the guests all departed, and harry too had taken leave (for as this was his last day at elm grove, he was going by the three o'clock train to keep his promise, for harry was very strict, and would not have remained another day on any pretext). then isabel had to listen to the praises bestowed on her by all the arlington family, who complimented her upon the sensation she had made, and to force herself to join in an animated conversation regarding the events of the evening; so that she was truly glad when mr. arlington dismissed the 'conclave,' saying that they could discuss the party next day.

when isabel gained her own room, and sat down to think of her trouble, she began to realize the full extent of her misery. she had scarcely known 'till now, how much his love had supported her through all her trials; or how the thought of one day being his, had softened the ills she had been called upon to endure since her father's death. now she must think of him no more--he was hers no longer. but worse than this, was the pain and grief of knowing that he was unworthy of the love and admiration that she had bestowed upon him. she knew that he was proud, passionate and exacting, yet she loved him; for these very characteristics, mingled as they were with more endearing qualities, had a peculiar charm for her. how happy she had been to feel that he loved her; and oh! the pain, the agony, of knowing that he did so no longer. why, why had he written that letter? oh it was cruel, cruel. and then to think that it had all been planned, premeditated, with the express design of making her suffer more acutely, was bitter in the extreme. to lose his love was misery; but to know that he was deceitful, cruel and revengeful, was agony beyond endurance. she did not weep: her grief was too stony for tears. "oh, louis, louis," she moaned in her agony, "what have i done, to deserve such cruel treatment?" she leaned her head upon her arm, and pressed her hand upon her throbbing temples, for the tumult of her thoughts became intolerable. she pictured to herself louis, as she loved to see him; old scenes recurred to her mind, and the days when she had been so happy in his love--nor had a wish beyond. even this very night, how inexpressibly happy had it made her to see him in the room. and oh, to have all her dreams of happiness crushed in a moment. again she thought how different it might have been had he been faithful and true; but he was false--he did not love her, and what had she to live for now? a sense of oppression, which almost amounted to suffocation, distressed her, until at length a fearful sensation of choking forced her to rise to get some water; but ere she could do so, a crimson stream flowed from her mouth, down her white dress, and she fell upon the floor.