In order to keep the threads of our narrative connected, it is necessary
that we go back for a time, and again open the scene in Frankfort, on the
24th of March, several days after the party, at which Florence Woodburn
met Fanny Middleton. Seated at her work table, in one of the upper rooms
of Mrs. Crane's boarding house, is our old friend, Kate Miller. Her
dazzling beauty seems enhanced by the striking contrast between the
clearness of her complexion and the sable of her robe.
On a low stool, at her feet, sits Fanny. Her head is resting on Mrs.
Miller's lap, and she seems to be sleeping. She has been excused from
school this afternoon, on account of a sick, nervous headache, to which
she has recently been frequently subject. Finding the solitude of her own
chamber rather irksome, she had sought Mrs. Miller's room, where she was
ever a welcome visitor. To Kate she had imparted a knowledge of the letter
which she supposed Dr. Lacey had written.
Mrs. Miller's sympathy for her young friend was as deep and sincere as was
her resentment against the supposed author of this letter. As yet, she had
kept Fanny's secret inviolate, and not even her husband had ever suspected
the cause of Fanny's failing strength. But, this afternoon, as she looked
on the fair girl's sad, white face, which seemed to grow whiter and
thinner each day, she felt her heart swell with indignation toward one who
had wrought this fearful change. "Surely," thought she, "if Dr. Lacey
could know the almost fatal consequence of his faithlessness he would
relent; and he must, he shall know it. I will tell Mr. Miller and he I
know will write immediately." Then came the thought that she had promised
not to betray Fanny's confidence; but she did not despair of gaining her
consent, that Mr. Miller should also know the secret.
For a time Fanny slept on sweetly and quietly; then she moved uneasily in
her slumber, and finally awoke.
"How is your head now?" asked Mrs. Miller, at the same time smoothing the
disordered ringlets which lay in such profusion over her lap.
"Oh, much better," said Fanny. "I had a nice sleep, and so pleasant
dreams, too."
"Did you dream of him?" asked Mrs. Miller, in a low tone.
Quick as thought the crimson tide stained Fanny's cheek and forehead, but
she answered, somewhat bitterly, "Oh, no, no! I never dream of him now,
and I am trying hard to forget him. I do not think I love him half as well
now as I once thought I did."