"SAN FRANCISCO.
"MR. ERLE PALMA,—My Douglass died last night.
"ELISE LINDSAY."
"Though Duty's face is stern, her path is best;
They sweetly sleep who die upon her breast."
CHAPTER XXIX.
"Your bed is untouched, you did not undress! Why did you sit up all night, and alone?"
"Because I knew it was folly to attempt to sleep; and to watch the bay and the beauty of the night was less wearying than to toss on a pillow staring at the ceiling. Mrs. Waul, what brings you here so early?"
"A package of letters which must have arrived yesterday, but William only received them a few minutes since. Mrs. Orme, will you have your coffee now?"
"After a little while. Have everything in order to leave at a moment's notice, for I may not return here from Pæstum. Give me the letters."
Mrs. Orme tossed back her hair which had been unbound, and as the letters were placed in her hand, she seemed almost to forget them, so abstracted was the expression with which her eyes rested on the dancing waves of the Bay of Naples. The noise of the door closing behind Mrs. Waul seemed to arouse her, and glancing at the letters she opened one from Mr. Palma.