Only nineteen, and with nothing left to wish for but death." There was a tap at the door.

Before she could speak it was opened, and Jane, the brisk, came rustling in.
"There's a gentleman down-stairs, Mrs.Stanford, asking to see you." Rose sprang up, her lips apart, her eyes dilating.
"To see me! A gentleman! Jane, is it Mr.Stanford ?" Jane shook her head.
"Not a bit like Mr.Stanford, ma'am; not near so 'andsome, though a very fine-looking gentleman.

He said, to tell you as 'ow a friend wanted to see you." A friend! Oh, who could it be?
She made a motion to Jane to show him up--she was too agitated to speak.

She stood with her hands clasped over her beating heart, breathless, waiting.
A man's quick step flew up the stairs; a tall figure stood in the doorway, hat in hand.
Rose uttered a faint cry.

She had thought of her father, of Jules La Touche, never once of him who stood before her.
"Doctor Frank!" she gasped; and then she was holding to a chair for support, feeling the walls swimming around her.
Doctor Frank took her in his arms, and kissed her pale cheek as tenderly and pityingly as her father might have done.
"My poor child! My poor little Rose! What a shadow you are! Don't cry so--pray don't!" She bowed her weary head against his shoulder, and broke out into hysterical sobbing.