It was Manella.

She had taken extraordinary pains with her attire, plain though it was--something dainty and artistic in the manner of its wearing made its simplicity picturesque,--and the red rose at her bosom was effectively supplemented by another in her hair, showing brilliantly against its rich blackness.

She stopped when about three paces away from the sleeping man and watched him with a wonderful tenderness.

Her lips quivered sweetly--her lovely eyes shone with a soft wistfulness,--she looked indeed, as Morgana had said of her, "quite beautiful." Instinctively aware in slumber that he was not alone, Seaton stirred--opened his eyes, and sprang up.
"What! Manella!" he exclaimed--"I thought you were too busy to come!" She hung her head a little shamefacedly.
"I HAD to come"-- she answered--"There was no one else ready to bring this--for you." She held out a telegram.

He opened and read it.