October comes, and scarcely four months after his marriage, Mellen was compelled to leave his wife and home, it might be for a year. Elizabeth grew white and cold when this certainty was forced upon her, yet she made no protestation, and uttered nothing like regret or complaint. Grantley was chilled through and through the heart by this. He had been so lonely, had longed for the warmth and happiness of love with such intense yearnings, that her calm stillness wounded him terribly. Was she of marble? Would nothing kindle affection in that proud heart? Had he married a beautiful statue?

No wonder Elizabeth was proudly cold. She did not believe in the necessity of this journey. His indifference had grown into dislike, she thought, and, yielding to inevitable repulsion, he was going away to avoid her.

But Elsie was loud in her expressions of grief. She had floods of tears to give—protestations and caresses without end. Her sweet voice was constantly reproaching Elizabeth for want of feeling. She was forever hovering about her brother in atonement, as she said, for his wife's coldness. But the roses on her cheek were always fresh, and her blue eyes never lost a gleam of their brightness, while Elizabeth grew thin and white beneath the withering ache of a famished heart.

"Oh, the desert of these months! Oh, my God, my God, I shall perish without him! Alone here—all alone with this child—what will become of me! How shall I endure, how resist this wild clamor of the heart?"

Elizabeth had flung herself upon the couch in her own room, her face was buried in the purple cushion, and she strove to smother the words, which sprang out of a terrible pain which had no business in that young heart. As she lay, convulsed and sobbing, on the couch, the door opened, and her husband came into the room. The thick carpet smothered his footsteps, and he stood by the couch before she knew it—stood there a moment, then fell upon his knees, and softly wound his arm around her.

"Elizabeth, my wife."

She started up with a cry; her face was wet with tears; her large grey eyes wild with sorrow. He lifted her to his bosom, put back the thick waves of hair that had fallen over her face, and kissed her forehead and her lips with gentle violence.

The pride went out from her heart as she felt these passionate kisses rained on her face. She clung to him, trembling from the new joy that possessed her.

"Is it for me that you are weeping, sweet wife? are you sorry to part with me?"

"Oh, yes, yes! you are my life, my salvation."

"Ah, how hard you make it for me to go!"

"And you must? you must?"

"It is inevitable; my duty to others demands it; but it shall not be for long."

The door of Elsie's boudoir was opened, the curtains held back, and the smiling young creature looked in. Elizabeth saw her, struggled out of her husband's arms, and sat with the wet eyelashes sweeping her cheek, which was hot with blushes.

"Oh, ho! one too many, am I?" she cried, entering without ceremony. "Why, sister Bessie, I haven't seen you blush so since that day when Mrs. Harrington would insist on it that you recognised a certain person."

Elizabeth was so confused by the sudden rush of joy sweeping through her whole being, that she did not remark this speech; but her husband did, and withdrew his arm gently from her support. She looked up, and saw that he was changed within the minute.

"I'm glad to find you looking so amiable," said Elsie, going up to the glass, and threading her curls out into fluffy and beautiful confusion; "for I've thought of something that would make this place delightful, just as you are going away, Grant. Besides," she added, looking down and coloring a little, "people will get such ideas into their heads, and say such things. It is quite necessary to let them see how very happy you and Bessie are together, or they never will believe that you are not running away from her."

"What!" demanded Mellen almost sternly,—"What are you saying, Elsie?"

"Oh, it's dreadful; I've been crying about it half the night; but a splendid ball, or something of that sort, will put everything on velvet. Nothing like champagne and the et ceteras to stop people's mouths."

"A ball! Why, Elsie, what is your mind running on?"

"The idea is dreadful, I know; and just as you are leaving us, when every moment is precious as a grain of gold. But it's really necessary. If you go off without seeing people, Grant, they will be sure to say that you and Bessie have quarreled, and all sorts of horrid things about her being melancholy, and you—well it's no use repeating these speeches, but the ball we must have. Bessie shall entertain them like a princess; as for poor little me, I'm good for nothing but dancing."

She gave a waltzing step or two, and whirled herself before the mirror again.

"Well, who shall we invite?" she said, gazing at the pretty image that smiled back her admiration. "I made out a list this morning in my room; shall I bring it?"

She ran into her room and came out again with a handful of engraved cards, some of them already filled in.

"I knew, of course, that the ball was to be, so had the cards struck off. Tom Fuller brought them down. Just add what names you please, Bessie, and we will leave the rest to Mrs. Harrington."

"Why, Elsie!" began Mrs. Mellen.

"Well, what is it?"

"How can you think of—"

"Oh, it's settled, so don't discuss it. What! looking cross? Why, Grant dear, I—I—did not think you would be offended."

"But I am, Elsie."

She dropped into a chair, pressed both hands to her side, and shrunk away into a grieved, feeble little thing, that had been crushed by a single blow.

"Why, Elsie!"

Her eyes filled with tears, and she covered them with both hands.

"I am not angry, child, only surprised."

"But you will be—you will be very angry when I tell you that some of the invitations are sent out. Oh, I wish I were dead!"

Her lips quivered like those of a grieved and half-frightened child. Her cheeks were wet, and their color had left them.

"Oh, Grantley, Grantley, don't—don't look at me in that way. Dear Bessie, tell him how sorry I am."

Mellen was walking the floor in considerable agitation. He had hoped for a little peace in his own home—a few days of tranquil confidence with his wife. Now everything was broken in upon. There would be nothing but confusion up to the very hour of his starting.

Elsie watched him furtively, and with sidelong glances. She knew how terrible his anger was when once aroused.

"Oh, if my poor mother had lived."

"Peace, Elsie! I will not have that sacred name dragged into an affair like this. Have your way, but remember it is the last time that you must venture on the prerogatives of my wife."

Elsie left the room really frightened, and sobbing piteously, but the moment she found herself in her boudoir a smile broke through her tears, and she laughed out.

"Well, I don't care, we shall have the ball. I wonder if Bessie put him up to that. Hateful thing, he never scolded me so before. Her prerogatives, indeed."

As for Grantley Mellen, this untoward intrusion had broken up the happy moment which might have given him an insight into all that his wife felt and suffered. The interview which had promised such gentle confidence only ended in mutual irritation.