Between the two fell a profound silence, and Regina could think of nothing but her guardian’s flushed confused countenance, when Olga taxed him with his love for Mrs. Carew.  How deeply his heart must be engaged, when his stem, cold, noncommittal face crimsoned?

It seemed a long time since they sat down there, and Regina was growing restless when the front door-bell rang.  The servant who brought up a telegram addressed to Mr. Palma, informed Mrs. Palma that Mr. Roscoe was waiting in the dining-room to see her.

“My dear, knock at the door, and hand this to Erle.  I will come back directly.”

She went downstairs, and, glad of any pretext to interrupt an interview which she believed must be torturing to poor Olga, Regina tapped at the door.

“Come in.”

Standing on the threshold, she merely said: 

“Here is a telegraphic despatch, which may require a reply.”

“Come in,” repeated Mr. Palma.

Advancing, she saw with amazement that he was kneeling close to the couch, with Olga’s hand in his, and his bowed head close to her face.  When she reached the lounge she found that Olga was weeping bitterly, while now and then heavy sobs convulsed her feeble frame.

“Mr. Palma, do you want to throw her back into delirium by this cruel excitement?  Do go away, and leave us in peace.”

“She will feel far happier after a little while, and tears will ease her heart.  Olga, you have not yet given me your promise.”

“Be patient!  Some day you will learn perhaps that though the idol you worshipped so long has fallen from the niche where you set it, even the dust is sacred; and you want no strange touch to defile it.  Oh the love, the confidence, the idolatry—­I have so lavishly squandered!  Because it was wasted, and all—­all is lost, can I mourn the less?”

“At least give me your promise to wait two years, to follow my advice, to accede to my plan for your future.”

He wiped the tears from her cheek, and after some hesitation she said brokenly: 

“How can you care at all what becomes of me?  But since you have saved me from Mr. Congreve, and contrived to conceal the traces of my disguise and flight from Albany, I owe you something, owe something to your family pride.  I will think over all you wish, and perhaps after a time, I can see things in a different light.  Now—­all is dark, ruined—­utterly——­”

She wept passionately, hiding her face in her hands; and rising, Mr. Palma placed some open letters on the chair beside her.  He walked to the window, opened and read the telegram, and Regina saw a heavy frown darken his brow.  As if pondering the contents, he stood for more than a minute, then went to the door, and said from the threshold: 

“The papers, Olga, are intended for no eye but yours.  In reviewing the past, judge me leniently, for had you been born my own sister I should have no deeper interest in your welfare.  Henceforth try to trust me as your brother, and I will forgive gladly all your unjust bitterness and aspersion.”