"Yes; here's a nice spot, under the rose-bush," said Louis; "and I'll get a tombstone and write a nice epitaph. And you must console yourself with the belief that it's happy in the bird's heaven, if there is such a place," added Louis, as he placed poor "Birdie" in its last resting-place.
Half an hour after, Celeste sought the presence of Minnette. She found her sitting by the window, her chin resting on her hand, as was her habit, gazing out. She did not turn round as Celeste entered; but the latter went up softly, and, placing her hand on hers, said gently:
"Minnette, I'm afraid you're angry with me? I'm very sorry; please forgive me?"
Minnette shook her roughly off, exclaiming:
"Don't bother me, you little whining thing! Go out of this!"
"Yes; but only say you forgive me, first! Indeed, indeed, Minnette, I didn't mean to offend you. I want to love you, if you'll let me!"
"Love!" exclaimed Minnette, springing fiercely to her feet, her black eyes gleaming like fire. "You artful little hypocrite! You consummate little cheat? Don't talk to me of love! Didn't I see you in the garden, with your arms around Louis Oranmore, in a way for which you ought to be ashamed of yourself—complaining to him of my wickedness and cruelty in killing the bird he gave you. And yet, after turning him against me, you come here, and tell me you love me! Begone, you miserable little beggar! I hate the very sight of you!"
Her face was convulsed with passion. With a cry of terror, Celeste fled from the room to weep alone in her own chamber, while Minnette sat by the window, watching the stars come out in their splendor, one by one, with the germs of that jealousy taking deep root in her soul, that would grow and bear fruit for evermore!