Dearest Hilda, you are _indeed_ a HEROINE! Always, darling, Your own deeply _devoted_ and _sympathizing_ MADGE.
Hildegarde looked up after reading this letter, and, curiously enough, her eyes fell directly on a little mirror which hung on the wall opposite.

In it she saw a rosy, laughing face, which smiled back mischievously at her.

There were dimples in the cheeks, and the gray eyes were fairly dancing with life and joyousness.

Where was the "white disdain," the dignity, the pallor and emaciation?
Could this be Madge's Queen Hildegarde?
Or rather, thought the girl, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, could this Hildegarde ever have been the other?
The form of "the minx," long since dissociated from her thoughts and life, seemed to rise, like Banquo's ghost, and stare at her with cold, disdainful eyes and supercilious curl of the lip.

Oh DEAR! how dreadful it was to have been so odious! How could poor dear Papa and Mamma, bless them, have endured her as they did, so patiently and sweetly?
But they should see when they came back! She had only just begun yet; but there were two months still before her, and in that time what could she not do?
They should be surprised, those dear parents! And Madge--why, Madge would be surprised too.