She was soon asleep, and her last thoughts were of Keith Kenyon and how dear he was to her. She thought, too, of Serena's strange words and hidden threats; but she could see too plainly that Serena was half insane with jealous hatred, and Beatrix shut her heart upon her vile insinuations. And so at length she sank away in peaceful slumber, unconscious of the dark clouds slowly but surely gathering about her, and soon to break in awful ruin upon her defenseless head.
A strange future—a strange fate—lay spread out before her—a thorny path for her little feet to tread.
Had she known the bitter truth, Beatrix would not have wished to awaken again in this world. But she did not know, and it was well that she did not; for the knowledge of her awful fate—her dark inheritance—would have driven her mad. And yet, some day she must know—she must know! Poor child! let her dream on now in innocent unconsciousness of what the future has in store for her. Soon enough the day will come when Beatrix Dane will pray for the boon of death, the peace and quiet of the grave!
In the meantime, alone in her own room, Serena sat before a table upon which she had placed the tin box. She looked like a fiend gloating over the possession of another human soul as her long fingers touched carefully the scorched and blackened fragments of that fatal letter which Doctor Lynne's last act on earth was to destroy, hoping to hide forever the secret which it contained.
"I will do it!" muttered Serena, hoarsely, her eyes sparkling with hatred and malice. "I will take these papers tomorrow to an expert—I know just where to find one—and I think they can be deciphered. And—then"—arising to her feet and clinching her cold hands fiercely together—"Miss Beatrix Dane, I shall hold you in the hollow of my hand!"
[CHAPTER XVII.]
SERENA SUCCEEDS.
That night Beatrix dreamed a strange dream. She thought that she was alone in the mysterious round room in the western tower, gazing upon a portrait which hung upon the wall—the portrait of a woman—a beautiful, dark-eyed, sad-faced woman, the sweet lips parted with a smile—surely the saddest smile that ever touched human lips. And as Beatrix gazed, spell-bound, upon the portrait, the painted lips seemed to open and breathe softly the one word: