Tempest and Sunshine

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."