The dread lest he might suspect it, and despise her, added intensity to her desire to leave New York, and find safety in joining her mother; for the thought of his cold contempt, his glittering black eyes, and curling lips, was unendurable.

Weeks must elapse ere she could receive an answer to her letter, praying for permission to sail for Europe, and during this trying interval, she determined to guard every word and glance, to allow no hint of her great folly to escape.

Peleg Peterson’s daughter, or else “Nobody’s Child,” daring to lift her eyes to the lordly form of Erle Palma!

As this bitter thought taunted and stung her, she uttered a low cry of anguish and shame.

“What is the matter?  Don’t cry, it will spoil your pretty eyes.”

Regina turned quickly, and saw little Llora Carew standing near, and arrayed only in her long white night dress, and pink rosetted slippers.

“Llora, how came you out of bed?  You ought to have been asleep three hours ago.”

“So I was.  But I waked up, and felt so lonesome.  Mammie has gone off and left me, and hunting for somebody I came here.  Won’t you please let me stay awhile?  I can’t go to sleep.”

“But you will catch cold.”

“No, the room is warm, and I have my slippers.  Oh! what a pretty dress!  And your arms and neck are like snow, whiter even than my mamma’s.  Please do sing something for me.  Your voice is sweeter than my musical box, and then I am going away to-morrow.”

She had curled herself like a pet kitten on the rug, and looking down at her soft dusky eyes, and rosy cheeks, Regina sighed.

“I am so tired, dear.  I have no voice left.”

“If you could sing before all the people at the Cantata, you might just one song for little me.”

“Well, pet, I know I ought not to be selfish, and I will try.  Come, kiss me.  My mother is so far away, and I have nobody to love me.  Hug me tight.”

There was a door leading from Mr. Palma’s sleeping-room, to the curtained alcove behind the writing desk, and having quietly entered by that passage soon after Regina came home, the master of the house sat on a lounge veiled by damask and lace curtains, and holding the drapery slightly aside, watched what passed in the library.

He was rising to declare his presence, when Llora came in, and somewhat vexed at the contretemps he awaited the result.

As Regina knelt on the rug and opened her arms, the pretty child sprang into them, kissed her cheeks, and assured her repeatedly that she loved her very dearly, that she was the loveliest girl she ever saw, especially in that gauze dress.  Particularly fond of children, Regina toyed with, and caressed her for some minutes, then rose, and said: 

“Now I will sing you a little song to put you to sleep.  Sit here by the hearth, but be sure not to nod and fall into the fire.”