He was gone and the door closed; Elizabeth raised herself on her elbow and remained listening till the sound of his steps died upon the stairs, then she threw aside the shawls he had flung over her, and sprang to her feet.

"Not a day's rest," she exclaimed, "not an hour's—not one! I must go out and answer the demands of this villain. If Grantley should meet me—I don't care—I must have it out! I shall go mad in the end—I shall go mad!"

She wrung her hands in a sort of fury, and paced up and down the room with quick, impatient steps.

"I might go now," she said at length; "he is in the library—it is growing dark, too."

She stopped before one of the windows and looked out; the afternoon was darkening under the mustering clouds and a heavy mist that had swept up from the ocean.

"Coming nearer and nearer," muttered Elizabeth, pointing to the waving columns of fog as if she were addressing some unseen person; "just so the danger and the darkness gather closer and closer about my life!"

She turned away, urged forward by the courage with which a brave person is impelled to meet a difficulty at once, threw a shawl about her and left the room.

She ran through the hall to a back staircase seldom used, and which led into a passage from whence she could pass at once into the thickest part of the shrubbery.

At the foot of the stairs she paused an instant, listened then with a quick, choking sigh, opened the door and hurried away.

Seated in his library, Mellen found it impossible to fulfil his task of letter writing. He could not account for the feelings which crept over him. The quiet content of the afternoon was all gone; and in its place came, not only anxiety about his wife, but a host of wild suspicions so vague and absurd, that he was angry with the folly which forced him to insult his reason by dwelling upon them.

The confinement of the house became absolutely hateful to him. He opened one of the French windows, stepped out upon the veranda and walked up and down in the gathering gloom, looking across the waters where the fog shifted to and fro, like ghostly shadows sent up to veil the ever restless ocean.

At last Mellen passed down the steps and entered the grounds; he was some distance from the house when he heard a sound like a person moaning aloud in distress.

He looked about—the mist and the coming night made it impossible to distinguish objects with any distinctness—but he saw the garments of a woman fluttering among the trees.

He darted forward; with what impulse he could hardly have told; but the woman had disappeared, whether warned by his hasty movement or urged forward by some other motive, he could not tell.

The thought in his mind was—

"That is my wife, Elizabeth."

Then the folly of this suspicion struck him; not an hour before he had left his wife almost asleep in her room, how was it possible that she could be there, wandering about like a demented creature in the misty twilight?

"I will go up to her room," he thought; "I will cure myself of these absurd fancies."

He entered the house and ran upstairs quickly, opened the door of his wife's room and looked in. She was standing before the fire—at the noise of the opening door she thrust something into her bosom—a paper it looked like to Mellen—then she turned and stood silently regarding him.

"You are up," he said.

"Yes," she replied, a little coldly. "Did you want anything?"

"Only to see if you slept—if you were coming down soon."

"I shall be down directly."

He hesitated an instant, then he said:

"Were you not in the grounds just now?"

Elizabeth did not answer; she had let her hair down and was beginning to arrange it, shading her pale face with the floating tresses.

"Were you?" he inquired again.

"What did you ask?" she demanded.

He repeated the question.

"It does not seem quite probable," she said, walking away towards the mirror.

"I thought that I saw you there only a few minutes since," he said.

Elizabeth was busy lighting a candle; after she had succeeded, she replied:

"If you had seen me in the grounds would it have been so very singular."

"No; only as I left you lying down——"

She interrupted him with an impatient gesture.

"I am tired of this," she said passionately. "What is it you wish to know—what do you suspect?"

"Nothing, Elizabeth; I only thought it was foolish if not dangerous to go out on such a night."

He was ashamed of himself now, but she did not offer to help him in his dilemma. She stood silent and still, as if waiting for him to leave the room.

"We will wait tea for you," he said.

"Very well."

As he passed near the sofa his foot got entangled in a shawl which lay on the floor; he picked it up—it was heavy with damp.

"I was given to understand that you had not been out," he exclaimed, holding it towards her.

For an instant Elizabeth looked confused, then she snatched the shawl from his hand, crying angrily:

"Well, sir, I was out—now are you satisfied?"

"Always deception," he said, "even in trifles."

"Of course," she exclaimed, in the same passionate tone, "you make it necessary. I went out because these nervous attacks make me feel as if I were choking—you are so suspicious, you see something to suspect in the most trivial action."

"So you——"

"Told you a lie," she added, when he hesitated; "well, let it go at that. Are you through with this examination—have you any more questions to ask?"

"That tone—that look, Elizabeth; you are not like yourself!"

"No wonder—blame yourself for it. I cannot and will not endure this system of espionage—I will have my liberty—that you may understand!"

Mellen's passionate temper flamed up in his face, but he controlled it resolutely and did not speak.

"Be good enough to say all you wish and have done with the subject," she continued in the same irritating tone, utterly unlike her old method of parleying or enduring his evil words.

"I have nothing to ask," he said; "you are nervous and excited—we won't quarrel to-night."

He went out of the room, Elizabeth fell upon her knees by the couch, and groaned aloud.

"Oh! I am no longer myself! What wonder! what wonder!"

She drew a letter from her bosom and began to read it, moaning and crying as she read; then she threw it in the fire, stood watching till the last fragments were consumed, then sinking into a chair, buried her face in her hands. She remained a long time in that despondent attitude, her whole frame shaking at intervals with nervous tremors, and her breath struggling upwards in shuddering gasps.

There was a knock at the door at length.

"Who is there?" she called sharply; "what do you want?"

"Miss Elsie wished to know if you were coming to tea," said a servant. "There is a gentleman come to see Mr. Mellen from the city, ma'am."

Elizabeth started up and went on dressing; as was usual with her after one of those strange excitements, a sudden fever crimsoned her cheeks and brightened her eyes.

She went downstairs and received her guest with affable grace, which contrasted painfully with her late excitement, and before the evening was over, seemed to have forgotten the hasty words she had spoken to Mellen, and was like her old self again.