He arose, but started as if an apparition met his gaze. Oriana knelt
beside him, and touched her lips to his hand in gratitude. An arm raised
her tenderly, and a gentle voice murmured her name.

It was not Arthur's.

Oriana raised her head, with a faint cry of terror. She gasped and
swooned upon the intruder's breast.

It was Harold Hare who held her in his arms.

Arthur, with folded arms, stood erect, but pale, in the presence of his
friend. His eye, sorrowful, yet calm, was fixed upon Harold, as if
awaiting his angry glance. But Harold looked only on the lifeless form
he held, and parting the tresses from her cold brow, his lips rested
there a moment with such a fond caress as sometimes a father gives his
child.

"Poor girl!" he murmured, "would that my sorrow could avail for both.
Arthur, I have heard enough to know you would not do me wrong. Grief is
in store for us, but let us not be enemies."

Mournfully, he gave his hand to Arthur, and Oriana, as she wakened from
her trance, beheld them locked in that sad grasp, like two twin statues
of despair.

They led her to the house, and then the two young men walked out alone,
and talked frankly and tranquilly upon the subject. It was determined
that both should leave Riverside manor on the morrow, and that Oriana