"Let us go home, Harold."

"But tell me that you love me."

She placed her two hands lightly about his neck, and looked up
mournfully but steadily into his face.

"I will be your true wife, Harold, and pray heaven I may love you as you
deserve to be loved. But I am not well to-day, Harold. Let us speak no
more of this now, for there is something at my heart that must be
quieted with penitence and prayer. Oh, do not question me, Harold," she
added, as she leaned her cheek upon his breast; "we will talk with
Beverly, and to-morrow I shall be stronger and less foolish. Come,
Harold, let us go home."

She placed her arm within his, and they walked silently homeward. When
they reached the house, Oriana was hastening to her chamber, but she
lingered at the threshold, and returned to Harold.

"I am not well to-night, and shall not come down to tea. Good night,
Harold. Smile upon me as you were wont to do," she added, as she pressed
his hand and raised her swollen eyes, beneath whose white lids were
crushed two teardrops that were striving to burst forth. "Give me the
smile of the old time, and the old kiss, Harold," and she raised her
forehead to receive it. "Do not look disturbed; I have but a headache,
and shall be well to-morrow. Good night--dear--Harold."

She strove to look pleasantly as she left the room, but Harold was
bewildered and anxious, and, till the summons came for supper, he paced