SHADDECK LIGHT.
ST MRS MA V A GNES FLEMING, Author of * Wedded, Yeb No Wife,' * Lost for a Woman,' * A Little Queen,' * A Wouderful Woman,' • Norine'a Hevenge,' Etc.
CHAPTER VI

*OH, WE FELL OUT, I KNOW NOT WHY.'

A quiet scene—a prebby picbure. A hand somely appointed parlour, the too ardent afternoon sunshine shut out, a young lady sitting alone. She sits in a low chair, the absolute repose of her manner telling of in tense absorption—her hands clasped in her lap, her eyes fixed on the door. She wears black—a brailing black silk up to the throat, down to the wrists, thab falls with the • soft frou jroit dear to bhe feminine heart, whenever sho moves, unlit by rose, or ribbon, or gem. It is thab consumma tion, so impossible to attain excepb by the very rich—eleganb'simplicity.
She has been waiting here lor ten minutes. There is always something in waiting, in expectation thab makes the heart beat; Vera's heart ia going like a trip-hammer, her eyes excitedly gleam; she is bracing herself for bhe mosb trying ordeal of her life. It moves her to the very depth of her being, but ib simply musb be, and she is wise enough in her two-and-twenty years to know the folly of fighbing Eate.
