room save that bright, fair, rosy, beautiful woman. It was the strangest look I ever witnessed; long a mystery to me, and forever a memory. Once she seemed about to move forward and greet her, — I know not with what warmth or with what words, — but, finally, instead of doing so, she dropped down upon her knees, clasped her hands, and gazed piteously into Zenobia’s face.

Meeting no kindly reception, her head fell on her bosom.

I never thoroughly forgave Zenobia for her conduct on this occasion. But women are always more cautious in their casual hospitalities than men.

“What does the girl mean?” cried she in rather a sharp tone. “Is she crazy? Has she no tongue?”

And here Hollingsworth stepped forward.