All that day Elsie remained in bed, sleeping a good deal, but so nervous and shaken that she would not permit herself to be left alone for a single instant. Her brother's presence seemed to fill her with fear, and she shrank with a strange sort of timidity from every tender word or soothing caress; still she was wretched if he left her bedside, and there he watched the long day through.

Evening came. Mellen was compelled to go through the pretence of another meal; indeed he forced himself to eat, for he began to grow angry with his own weakness.

He had thought when the first struggle was over to feel only an icy, implacable resentment against the woman who had wronged him; he was ashamed of the tenderness in his own nature when he found that, stronger than his rage, more powerful than the horror with which he regarded her dishonor, was the love he had believed uprooted suddenly from his heart, as a strong tree is torn up by tornados.

Yes, he regretted her! It was not only that his life must be a desolate blank, he pined for her presence. But for his pride he would have rushed out in search of her, and taken her back to his heart, sweeping aside all memory of her sin.

He roused himself from what appeared to him such degrading weakness by one thought—the partner in her guilt was his old enemy; a man too vile for vengeance, even.

That memory brought all the hardness back to his face, all the insane passion to his soul, but it centered on the man now.

That night, in the woman's very presence, he could not take the vengeance that he meditated, but now he was prepared to force her from the villain's grasp—on to repentance.

Alone in his library, Grantley Mellen wrote several letters; it was impossible to tell how that meeting would end, and he must make preparations for the worst. When all was done he rose to go upstairs again; a sudden resolution made him pause. He sat down at his desk once more, and wrote these lines:

He put the note in an envelope, sealed it carefully, and addressed it—"To Elizabeth."

These were necessary precautions. The man who had twice wronged him possessed the fierce courage of a bravo. If Elizabeth was found with him, death might come to one of them—even if that followed, the woman who had been his wife should never share the degrading future of a man too vile for personal vengeance. In mercy to her he would separate them.

He found Elsie sitting up in bed. She shrank away among the pillows when he entered; he saw the movement, and it shook his heart with a new pang. This artful woman had drawn the spell of her fascinations as closely about that pure girl as she had enthralled him. Elsie shrank from the brother who had deprived her of the love on which she had leaned. Elizabeth had left him nothing but bitterness.

"Are you feeling better?" he asked, sitting down by the bed.

"Oh, I never shall be any better," she murmured; "I shall die, and then, perhaps, you will be sorry."

Mellen could not be angry with her; it wounded and stung him to hear her speak thus, but he answered, patiently:

"When you are able to reflect, Elsie, you will see that I could not have acted differently. Few men would have shown as much leniency as I have done; regardless of the consequences to themselves, they would have made that woman's conduct public, and ruined her utterly."

"She wasn't bad," cried Elsie; "you are crazy to think so. She was the best woman in the world."

"Have you forgotten what I told you this morning—what I was forced to tell you or submit to your hatred? From yon window you could look out on the spot where she had buried——"

"Be still!" interrupted Elsie, with a shriek. "I won't stay in the house if you go on so—be still, I say!"

It required all his efforts to soothe the excited girl. He longed to question her, to know if she had left Elizabeth much alone during his absence, to understand how she could have been so persistently deceived, but she was in no state to endure such inquiries then.

Elsie lay back among her pillows, refusing to be comforted:

"If you want to cure me send for Bessie—my dear, dear Bessie! Search for her—send the people out!"

"Elsie, she has gone with that man; I cannot follow her there."

"No, no; she is wandering about in the cold. Go, search for her!"

"Anything but that, Elsie—ask anything else in the world."

"I don't want anything else."

"As soon as you are better we will go away from here," he continued; "to Europe, if you like."

"But how will she live?" persisted Elsie. "What will become of her? No money—no friends. Oh, Bessie, Bessie!"

"She has plenty to live on," he replied. "There are stocks enough deposited in her name to give her a comfortable income."

"But they are gone," cried Elsie. Then, remembering the danger of that avowal, she stopped suddenly.

"Gone!" he repeated. "How do you know? Oh, Elsie, do you know more than you own—do—"

"Stop, stop!" she screamed. "You have driven Bessie away and now you want to kill me! I don't know about anything—you know I don't. Just the other day Bessie spoke something about the stocks; I thought from what she said that you had taken them back for some purpose."

He was perfectly satisfied with her explanation, but the distress and fright into which she had fallen nearly brought on another nervous crisis. Great drops of perspiration stood on her forehead, and the slender fingers he held worked nervously in his grasp.

"Don't talk any more, dear child," he said. "Try to go to sleep again."

"I can't sleep—I never shall rest again—never! I feel so wicked—I hate myself!"

"Child, what do you mean?"

She must restrain herself, no danger must come near her. Even her sorrow for Elizabeth, her stinging remorse, could not make her unselfish enough to run any personal risk of his displeasure.

"I don't know what I mean—nothing at all! But it drives me wild to think of Bessie. Where can she be—where could she go? Suppose she has killed herself! Oh, she may be drowned in the bay—drowned—drowned!"

She went nearly mad with the ideas which her fancy conjured up, but it was perfectly in keeping with her character that in the very extremity of her suffering, no word for Elizabeth should be spoken that would implicate herself. Mellen must not guess at her knowledge of his wife's fault.

"You will have her searched for," she cried; "promise me that, if you don't want to kill me outright, promise me that."

"It could do no good, Elsie, none whatever. She has chosen her own destiny."

"It might, it might! If she has no money what will become of her?"

"I will inquire to-morrow," he replied. "I will write to my agent. If she has disposed of the stocks I will see that she has means to live upon; I promise you that."

"Really, truly?"

"Did I ever break my word, Elsie?"

"No, no; but you are so hard and stern."

"Never with you, darling—never with you."

Elsie groaned aloud, but hastened to speak:

"I am only in pain—don't mind it."

"My poor little Elsie, my sister, my treasure!"

"Do you love me so much, Grant?"

"Better than ever; you are all I have now! Oh, Elsie, don't shut your heart against me, I can't bear that. Try to believe that I have acted as justly as a man could. To the whole world I can be stern and silent, but let me tell you the truth. I loved that woman so, my heart is breaking under this grief. Bear patiently with me, child."

"Oh, if you suffer, send for her back," cried Elsie. "Let her explain; you gave her no time——"

"Hush, hush! Have I not said all those things to myself?"

This man's pride was so utterly crushed that he was revealing the inmost secrets of his soul to this frail girl, scarcely caring to conceal from her how keenly he suffered.

"But try," pleaded Elsie; "only try."

"It is impossible; later you will see that as plainly as I do. Don't you see what a sin I should commit in taking a false, dishonored woman back to my heart; what a wrong to my sister in exposing her to the society of a creature so lost and fallen?"

"She is good!" cried Elsie. "Bessie was an angel! Oh, I wish I was dead—dead—dead! I can't bear this; it is too much—too much!"

Elsie wrung her hands and sobbed piteously; she had wept until nature exhausted itself, and that choked anguish was more painful to witness than the most violent outburst of tears.

"We loved her so," muttered Mellen; "she was twined round that girl's heart as she enthralled mine; she has broken both."

"What are you saying, Grant?"

"Nothing, dear; I only pitied you and myself for loving her so much."

"I will always love her," cried Elsie; "you never shall change me; nothing shall do that. She is innocent; I believe it; I would say so before the whole world."