The clock in Elizabeth's dressing-room had struck eleven, but there she sat desolately looking into the fire, just as she had sunk into her chair on first entering the chamber.

She heard her husband and Elsie ascend the stairs a full hour before, but Mr. Mellen went straight on towards his own apartments. He had not entered hers since the day the bracelet was found; she knew well that he would not intrude upon her then.

For two long hours she had been alone with her dismal thoughts, no sound broke the stillness, save the monotonous ticking of the clock or an occasional sob and moan from the half spent wind without.

There was too much anxiety and agony in her mind for any of the nervous terrors which had haunted her during the day. Then, as she thought what the coming of the night would bring her, the heart in her bosom shuddered. Now it stood still and seemed hardening into iron. If some spirit had appeared with an articulate warning, she could not have been more convinced that exposure and ruin were approaching her with rapid strides. She would do her best, but that, she knew in her innermost soul, would lead to destruction. She looked back on the past weeks, and tried to remember if her plans had failed through her own weakness.

Before Mellen's return it had seemed possible to carry them out, to bury the past utterly, and build a new palace of hope on its grave, but they had all failed. It was not her fault, she had borne up as bravely as any woman could have done under the circumstances, had been as circumspect and guarded as it was possible to be, but from the moment of his inopportune arrival, some untoward event had occurred to thwart every project she had endeavered to carry out for her own salvation.

"It is fate," she muttered, in a cold whisper; "it is fate! Oh, my God, help me, help me, for I have yet a right to pray!"

No, even the consolations of prayer were denied this most wretched woman; the words seemed to freeze upon her lips; she could only moan in that broken whisper:

"My God, help me, help me!"

As she sat there, the door opened and Elsie softly entered the apartment. She had taken off her evening-dress, and put on a loose white wrapper, and over that had thrown a crimson shawl, which made the pallor that had come over her face still more apparent.

There was no light in the chamber except that given by the fire.

Elizabeth had extinguished the lamps; the gloom and the shadows befitted her mournful thoughts.

"Bessie, Bessie?" called Elsie, unable at first to distinguish any object in the half light. "Are you there?"

"Here I am," was the hoarse answer; "come in."

"I was so afraid to be alone with Grant," continued Elsie; "I felt as if I should scream every moment."

"What did he say to you; what did my husband talk about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular; he said very little; he did not even ask where you were. I told him you had gone to bed with a headache, but he did not seem to hear. He sat and looked in the fire, as if he were reading something in the red hot coals; after a long time he asked me if I loved him, and kissed my forehead. That was all."

Elizabeth struck her hands hard together, choked back the groan which rose to her lips, and sat gazing into the fire, as if she too read something terrible in the scarlet caverns which were breaking up and forming in its midst.

"I'm so cold," shivered Elsie; "there isn't half enough coal in the grate."

Cold! The chill had crept into Elizabeth's very soul which no power of hers could warm, and close to her that weak creature crouched, moaning out her petty complaints!

Even then, up to the last, while the glittering hands of the clock were seen in the firelight, creeping swiftly over the dial, and its solemn tick measured off the awful minute on which Elizabeth had agreed with her own soul to go forth on her terrible errand, the wretched woman was compelled to pause in that dim chamber, worse than dead herself, to comfort and soothe the creature who lay like a wounded fawn on the hearth.

"What time is it, Bessie?"

She raised herself and looked at the clock.

"Half-past eleven," answered Elizabeth, solemnly. "My hour has come!"

"I thought it was later," groaned Elsie. "Will it never be morning?"

"Soon enough," whispered Elizabeth, "soon enough."

"I wonder if Grant has gone to bed; I asked him if he was sleepy, and he—"

"Well?"

"Oh, he only gave a queer sort of laugh, and said, 'Sensible people always are sleepy when it comes bedtime.'"

Elizabeth had said truly her hour had come, but she could not go yet; she must wait until all danger of discovery was over—stand there breathless while her husband forgot her and her agony in peaceful sleep. They were both silent for a time, then Elsie began to shiver again, like some young bird lost from its nest in a storm.

"Oh, if it would only come morning!"

"Soon enough, soon enough," repeated Elizabeth, as before.

"Do talk to me; I shall die if you don't!"

"What can I say, child? I can only wait—wait."

"Wait! What do you mean? Oh, I know—I know!"

The girl broke off with a more violent shudder and buried her face in her hands.

"What made you remind me?" she cried. "I shall go crazy now. Bessie! Bessie!"

But this time, when the girl clung to her, Elizabeth removed her hands, not impatiently, but with quiet firmness.

"You must control yourself," she said. "I have upon me all that I can bear now. Be still, Elsie!"

"I will! I will!" she sobbed. "Oh, wouldn't it be better to be dead?"

"Better! Yes, a thousand times; but it is not easy to die."

Elsie checked her sobs again, and caught at the hope with which she had sustained herself all day.

"This is the last of it," she said; "this night once safely over, and there is an end."

"One way or the other," muttered Elizabeth.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing—nothing."

It was worse than useless, to agitate the girl's weakness afresh with fears that lay so deep in her own mind. Whichever way the end came, Elsie was safe. Was the creature thinking that as she shut her eyes and leaned more closely against her sister?

"Yes, it will be all safe then," she went on. "The money is paid; we shall have the papers; there is nothing more to fear."

Elizabeth did not answer; she allowed her to think that the danger from that quarter was removed. It could do no good to fill her mind with added fears.

"There is the wind again!" cried Elsie. "Oh, if it would only stop!"

The sound recalled all that lay in the coming hours, and she was unnerved again.

"You are not frightened, are you, Bessie?" she asked.

"I suppose not; there is nothing to fear."

"To be alone with him and—and—Oh, I ought to go with you; I'll try—I'll try."

At that late hour some remorse woke in her mind for her unsisterly selfishness, but Elizabeth said very kindly:

"You will stay here; you could do no good."

"But I shall go mad while you are gone."

"You must get into bed again."

"How long shall you be away?"

"I can't tell. Stop—don't talk about it. I shall go through with it all; let me alone till then."

Elsie writhed to and fro in hysterical weakness.

"You must be quiet," Elizabeth said. "Suppose he should hear you?"

"Grant? Oh, I'll be still—I'll be still as death."

"What time is it?" Elsie asked again.

"Almost twelve; the clock will strike in a moment."

"How much longer shall you wait?" asked the girl in a whisper. "Did he answer your telegram?"

"I did not expect that he would, there was too much danger in it. But hush, I must discover if he is asleep."

"Grantley?"

"Yes."

"What was that noise?" Elizabeth exclaimed suddenly.

"I heard nothing," Elsie answered, lifting her head and allowing it to fall again on her sister's knee.

"It sounded like a step in the hall," said Elizabeth.

"It was only your fancy," returned Elsie. "This house is as still as the grave."

Elizabeth rose from her chair and walked to the window.

"You are not going?" cried Elsie.

"No; I only want to look. Be still!"

Elsie cowered down on the rug and muffled herself more closely in her shawl, lying quite still, with a sort of comfort in the feeling of warmth which began to creep over her.

Elizabeth pushed back the heavy curtains and looked out into the night. A stream of dim, silvery radiance shot into the room, and played like rippling water over the floor.

Elsie half started to her feet with a cry.

"What is that? What is that?"

"The moon is up," said Elizabeth, simply.

Elsie laid her head down again, Elizabeth stood leaning her hands on the window-sill, looking straight before her.

The moonlight was peculiarly clear, and millions of stars shone forth with the diamond radiance seen only in a frosty night. Every object was visible. Hoar frost shone up whitely from the crisp grass of the lawn, and long black shadows were cast downward by the trees, shaken like drapery when the wind tossed the branches up and down.

From where Elizabeth stood she could look out over the withered flower-beds and into the thicket beyond.

Suddenly her eye caught sight of a man standing under the cypress tree, which rose up gloomy and dark, its branches waving slowly to and fro, looking, to her excited fancy like spectral hands that beckoned her forth to her doom.

She uttered a faint sound and strained her eyes towards it with a chill feeling of horror. Elsie was roused again by the noise, and asked, quickly:

"What is the matter?"

"Nothing, nothing."

"What made you groan, then?"

"I am looking out," returned Elizabeth, in a low voice, leaning more heavily against the window for support, "he is there!"

"Come away, come away!" cried Elsie, muffling her face more closely in her shawl, as if to shut out some dreadful object. "Come back to the fire, Elizabeth, do!"

"Surely, if I can go out there to meet him," she said, "I have courage enough to look at the old tree."

Elsie only groaned anew. She sat upright and rested herself against the chair her sister had left.

"How does the night look, Bessie?" she asked, in a low, scared tone.

"The moonlight is so ghostly," returned Elizabeth; "it looks frightened. No wonder—no wonder!"

Elsie trembled more violently, but it seemed as if some power stronger than her own will forced her to continue these harassing questions.

"And the cypress, Bessie, how does it look?"

"Stern and dark—no wonder, sheltering him," cried Elizabeth. "It beckons to me; the branches look like giant arms tempting me to ruin. I must go—I must go!"

Her voice was little more than a whisper, but it sounded painfully sharp and distinct. Elsie buried her face in both hands, once more to shut out the images it conjured up.

"Come back!" she moaned; "Elizabeth, come back!"

"I must go. It is time."

"Wait—wait—just a moment! Don't go yet—don't leave me—I shall die here alone."

Elsie dragged herself along the floor to where Elizabeth stood, and caught her dress in a convulsive grasp.

"Wait a little—just a little?"

The very weakness of this girl seemed to give Elizabeth a sort of insane composure.

"Let go my dress," she said; "I must be gone."

"I can't stay here—I can't!"

"Be still—you must, and shall!"

She wrenched her garments from Elsie's hands, and the girl fell helplessly on the floor.

"Let me creep into bed first," she moaned; "I shall run mad if you leave me here. Oh, I'll go—I ought to go! What an unnatural creature I am! I'll go!"

"Don't talk—don't think—it is too late," whispered Elizabeth. "If you can pray, do it."

"I can't—I daren't! Help me up, Elizabeth—help me up."

But there was no response. Elizabeth was bending towards the window again, looking straight at the cypress tree; but the dread which had been in her face before was weak compared to the horror that convulsed it now.

"He is going there!" she cried, in an awful voice.

Elsie caught hold of her and raised herself so as to look out of the window.

"Who—who? What do you mean?"

"See—see!" continued Elizabeth. "Some one is creeping towards the cypress. He has a spade in his hand. Merciful God, it is too late!"

"Is it Grantley?" shrieked Elsie. "Is it Grantley?"

"There he goes! I told you I heard steps! My God! my God!"

She fell on her knees by the window, still staring out into the spectral light. Elsie gave one glance, saw her brother walking towards the cypress, and then sank back, unable to venture another look.