"But you _know_."

Minny made no answer, but her hands shook violently, and the braids she had just fastened fell loose again from her trembling fingers.

"What ails you, Minn? why don't you answer me?" said Della, looking up earnestly at Minny, in the glass.

"I never told you a lie in the world, Miss Della; and I don't answer you because I can't tell the truth now."

"You _must_ tell me if you know, Minny; and you must tell the truth, too."

"Oh, Miss Della," said the girl, sinking at her mistress's feet in a fit of wild weeping, "don't, don't ask me this. I never knew it myself till yesterday, and then I wrung it from my mother, who charged me, if I valued her life, never to lisp it again. It made me wretched. Oh, Miss Della, it would kill you."

"Kill me? How can it affect me, silly child? What nonsense."

Della lifted up the beautiful head which was bowed before her, and turned the pallid face toward her own.

"Tell me, you foolish one," she persisted, her curiosity fully aroused.

"I must and will know about it now;" and she stamped her little foot with an air of command, which, toward her favorite, was very rarely assumed.

Minny pressed her hands, clasped one upon the other, hard against her heart, as if its throbbing was painful, and raised her eyes, full of a strange, wild light, to her mistress's face.

"I would sooner die than tell you, Miss."

There might have been something in that agonized look that called forth emotion, or there might have been something in that cold, fixed gaze, which stamped for the instant the father on that upturned, ashy face; for as she met the glance, Della suddenly clasped her hands to her face, and, with an exclamation of horror, fell back fainting.

Minny sprang wildly to her feet--"Oh, Miss Della!" she exclaimed, as she bent over the senseless form before her, pouring out her passionate accents as if there was an ear to hear them. "Oh, Miss Della, how could you crave this knowledge to-day, of all other days? Had it been yesterday morning, or ever before in all our life here together, I would not have known, and you would have never known. To-day, of all days! Oh, I have broken this poor, sensitive heart; woe is me, woe is me! Oh, if I had only died before I learned this dreadful secret, only died! only died!"

With trembling hands, and eyes raining down their gushing tears, Minny bathed the pale brow, and brought rare perfumes, and chafed the little hands.

"Miss Della! Miss Della! I knew it would kill you--and you only guessed; I never told you--oh, no, never, never, never!"

Slowly Della returned to consciousness, and as her eyes unclosed, they fell upon the agonized face of her weeping attendant. She closed them quickly, and raised her hand so as to wave her from her sight, but it dropped listlessly back into her lap, and she lay still in the large chair, apparently as weak and helpless as an infant.

"Oh, Miss Della! God forgive me for what I have done, though I never meant to do it--never thought to do it. What could have turned your thoughts on this to-day?"

"Go away," murmured Della, faintly; "go away, so that I may open my eyes and not see you."

Minny moved a few paces back.

"I can see you in the glass yet; go away so that I can't see you anywhere, Minn."

Weeping bitterly, Minny retired to the other apartment; and Della, with folded hands, sat quite still with downcast eyes and pallid cheeks, looking like a statue of meditation.

A little French clock upon the mantle-piece struck the hour, and went on with its monotonous tick, tick--that unobtrusive voice of warning and admonition--until the half hour was sweetly chimed, and still Della sat there, pale, and still thinking. At length she rose, and with an energy unusual with her, walked hastily back and forth across the room. It had a soothing effect, and her brow was calm and resolute, yet shadowed as if with some new lesson of life, harshly forced upon her. She seated herself once more before the mirror.

"Minny, I am ready for you now."

Minny came, with her face calm and corpse-like, and once more essayed to bind up the rich bands of hair.

"Place my wreath a little more front. My cheek needs the shade of that bright rose to relieve its pallor--so--that effect is charming."

"Your hair is dressed, Miss."

Della sprang to her feet like one who resolutely tossed some load from the heart, and taking the hand-mirror from the table, surveyed the arrangement of her hair altogether.

"Beautiful! Minny, you have excelled yourself to-night."

"Thank you, Miss. What dress?"

"My India mull, and the rose-colored ribbons."

The dress was brought, and Della stood before the full-length mirror while Minny fastened it.

"Tie my shoulder-knots in your prettiest manner, Minny."

"Yes, Miss; and my reward shall be a rehearsal of the list of conquests?"

"I suppose so," smiled Della; "Minn, I pet you a great deal too much."

"I know it, Miss; and make me love you a great deal too well."

Della sighed.

At this moment there was a tap at the door, and Mrs. Delancey, in full evening costume, entered the room.

"Most ready, dort, darling?"

"Yes, mamma, I will be down in a few minutes."

"You look very sweetly in that simple dress; what prompted you to choose that to-night, treasure?"

"An instinctive knowledge, I presume, mamma, that I would look very sweetly in it," replied Della, archly.

Mrs. Delancey was a fine-looking woman--very fussy and very French. She smiled, and displayed her brilliant teeth at her daughter's answer, then stooped, and kissed her brow. Mrs. Delancey loved her child, with all the strength of affection she was capable of feeling. She was even first in her heart in some moments of pride and ambition, and second never, save to her love of fashion and display.

"Clasp this string of pearls about your throat, it will relieve the plainness of your attire."

"I'd rather not have it relieved, mamma."

"What a strange whim," returned the lady, proceeding to fasten on the necklace.

As the toilet was declared finished, Mrs. Delancey stepped back to observe the effect.

"_Charmante, ma chere!_" she exclaimed. "Remember, love, your father and I wish you to be particularly agreeable to General Delville this evening. He is a splendid match, rich as a Jew, and of such fine family!"

"He is the gentleman who was of age when papa was born, isn't he, mamma?"

"Hush, child; what of that! He may be a little old, but all the better--you'll be left a charming young widow the sooner."