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feminine attire, of the richest kind, were hung against the walls, or
disposed on the chairs. On one side stood the toilette-table, with its
small mirror then in vogue, and all its equipage of silver flasks,
filligree cassets, japan patch-boxes, scent-bottles, and pomatum-pots.
As he entered the room, a faint voice issuing from behind the rich
damask curtains of the bed, demanded, "Is it you, Disbrowe?"
"It is, Margaret," replied Parravicin, setting down the lamp, and
speaking with a handkerchief at his mouth, to disguise his voice and
conceal his features.
"You are late--very late," she rejoined, "and I have been ill. I fancied
myself dying."
"What has been the matter with you sweet, Meg?" asked Parravicin,
approaching the bed, and seating himself behind the curtains.
"I know not," she replied. "I was seized with a dreadful headache about
an hour ago. It has left me; but I have a strange oppression at my
chest, and breathe with difficulty."
"You alarm me, my love," rejoined Parravicin. "Were you ever attacked
thus before?"
"Never," she replied. "Oh! Disbrowe! if you knew how I have longed for
your return, you would blame yourself for your absence. You have grown
sadly neglectful of late. I suspect you love some one else. If I thought
so------"
"What if you thought so, Margaret?" demanded Parravicin.
"What!" cried Mrs.
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