CHAPTER X.





THE morning sun threw its ruddy beams, warm almost to tropical heat,
through the half-closed casement of Leah Mordecai's apartment, and
the intrusive light opened the dark, dreamy eyes to consciousness.
The hour was late. Toil-worn and languid from hard study and the
relaxing climate, Leah rested in her bed reluctant to arise.

"It's all over now; school-days are ended, and I am acknowledged a
young lady, I suppose," thought Leah half-consciously, as she
aroused at length from slumber. Then the thought came that it was
the last day of Lizzie Heartwell's sojourn in the Queen City; and
Leah sprang from her repose with a new and powerful impulse. "I
shall spend these last hours with her," she muttered articulately,
as she hastily performed the morning's simple toilet. "Yes, I'll
tell her my secret, too, though to no living soul have I breathed it
yet," she continued audibly, as she adjusted a pin here and there
among the dark braids of her hair. At last, smoothing the jetty
bands across the fair, oval forehead, she glanced back again to see
that the scar--the hated, dreadful scar--was hidden. Then placing a
knot of scarlet ribbon amid the delicate lace-work of her snowy
morning dress, she languidly descended the stairs and entered the
library, where her father sat awaiting her appearance.