Elizabeth saw the man and yet neither moved or spoke, but remained standing there in dumb silence, gazing at him with an expression in which so many diverse emotions struggled, that it would have been difficult to decide which feeling was paramount.

The flutter of her cloak caught his attention, and he came hurriedly forward with a smile on his lips, holding out his hand in an easy, reckless fashion.

"Ten thousand pardons," he exclaimed, "I fear that I have kept you waiting—I shall never forgive myself."

She put up her hand as if to check him, feeling, perhaps, some mockery in these words which was not apparent in his voice.

"We need not make excuses to each other," she said, in a cold, hard tone, "neither you nor I came here for that."

"Scarcely, I believe," and he laughed in a reckless way, which appeared natural to him.

Elizabeth Mellen shuddered in every limb at that repulsive sound; an absolute spasm of pain contracted her features, she gave no other sign of emotion, but clenched her hands hard together, forcing herself to be calm.

"I only received your letter this morning," he continued, watching her every movement carefully, while standing there with his back against a tree with apparent unconcern; "I should have been earlier, had it been possible."

She made an impatient gesture.

"No more of that," she exclaimed, "enough!"

He looked at her with the same careless smile that lighted up his somewhat worn face into an expression of absolute youthfulness. He was still a splendidly handsome man; a type of rare beauty which could not have failed to attract general observation wherever he appeared.

He was tall; the shoulders and limbs might have served as a model for a sculptor; the neck was white almost as a woman's; the magnificent head set with perfect grace upon it, and was carried with a haughty air that was absolutely noble. He might have been thirty-eight, perhaps even older than that, but he was one of those men concerning whose age even a physiognomist would be puzzled to decide.

The face was almost faultless in its contour; the mouth, shaded by a long silken moustache, which relieved his paleness admirably, and lent new splendor to his eyes, which possessed a strange magnetic power that had worked ill in more than one unfortunate destiny.

It was a face trained to concealment, and yet so carefully tutored that at the first glance one only thought what an open, pleasant expression it had. Even after long intercourse and a thorough knowledge of the man's character, that face would have puzzled the most skillful observer.

Elizabeth Mellen was looking at him in a strange silence; whatever might have been in the past there was no spell now in those glorious eyes which could dazzle her soul into forgetfulness; shade after shade of repressed emotion passed over her features as she gazed, leaving them at last white and fixed as marble.

"You are pale," he said, "so changed."

She started as if he had struck her.

"I did not come here to talk of my appearance," she said.

"True," he replied, "very true; but I cannot help wondering. I think of that day when I saved your life——"

"If you had only let me die then!" she broke in passionately. "If God had only mercifully deprived you of all strength!"

"You were blooming and gay," he went on as if he had not heard her words. "Yes, you are changed since then."

"I will not hear these things," she cried; "I will not be made to look back upon what we all were then."

She closed her eyes in blind anguish; his words brought back with such terrible force the time of that meeting—the day but one before her marriage, when he had started up so fatally in her path, and never left it till this terrible moment.

"Then to change the subject," he said. "In our brief conversation the other day we arrived at no conclusion whatever, nor was your letter any more satisfactory; will you tell me exactly what you have decided upon?"

A sudden flash of anger leaped into her eyes above all the suffering that dilated them.

"Now you are talking naturally," she said, "now you are your real self!"

He bowed in graceful, almost insulting mockery.

"It is your turn to pay compliments," he answered; "but I shall not receive them so ungraciously as you did mine."

She passed her hand across her throat as if something were choking her, then she said in a hard, measured tone:

"Have you considered the proposition I made you—will you go away from this country, and remain away for ever?"

He stood playing with his watchchain in an easy, careless way, as he replied:

"It is cruel to banish me—very cruel!"

"Listen!" she exclaimed passionately; "I know more than you think—your residence here is not safe!"

He only bowed again.

"It may be so, but I leave few traces in my path. If you do indeed know anything which could affect me, I am very certain that in you I have a friend who will be silent."

He opened his vest slightly and drew forth from an inner pocket a small paper, at the sight of which Elizabeth grew whiter than before. She made a gesture as if she would have snatched it from him, but he thrust it back in its hiding-place with a sarcastic smile.

"Secret for secret," said he; "but never mind that. After all, you treat me very badly. I wonder I am in the least inclined to be friends with you."

"Don't mock me!" she exclaimed. "Friends! There is no creature living that I loathe as I do you! No matter what the danger may be, I will speak the truth; tell you how utterly abhorrent you are to me, and brave the result."

"Yet once——"

She interrupted him with an insane gesture; perhaps he knew her too well for any attempt at trifling further with her just then, for his manner changed, and he said:

"You will take cold here; it is growing dark and the wind is very chill."

"It doesn't matter," she replied, recklessly. "Let us finish what there is to say, then I will go."

The wretched woman could stand upon her feet no longer, she was shaking so with agitation and exhaustion that she was forced to sit down on a fallen log. He seated himself by her side, regardless of her recoiling gesture, and began to talk earnestly.

For a full hour that strange interview went on, their voices rising at times in sudden passion, then sinking to a low tone, as if the speakers remembered that they spoke words which must not be overheard.

At last Elizabeth arose from her seat, folded her cloak about her, and said, quickly:

"Be here to-morrow at the same hour."

Without giving him time to answer, or making the least sign of farewell, she darted rapidly through the darkening woods and disappeared in the direction of the house.

North rose, began whistling a careless air, and walked slowly back along the path by which he had entered the grove.

When Elizabeth came in sight of the house she saw a light in the library window.

"Elsie is back at last. God help us all!" she muttered.

She moved near the low casement, looked in and saw the girl standing on the hearth, and hurried towards the entrance.

Elsie had returned home a full hour before, and had searched for Elizabeth vainly about the house. She entered the library, and was walking restlessly about the spacious room, slowly and sadly, as if oppressed by this cold welcome home.

Suddenly her eye caught sight of a paper lying under the table; it was one of the letters which had fallen unnoticed by Elizabeth when she put away the package.

Elsie caught it up, glanced her eyes over it, uttered a faint cry, then read it in a sort of horrified stupor.

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!" broke from her lips.

The discovery which she had made froze the very blood in her veins, and left her incapable of thought or action. She sat shivering, as if struck with a mortal chill, and at last crept close to the fire, clutching the letter in her hands, but holding them out for warmth. Sometimes her sister's name broke from her lips in a horrified whisper, and low words died in her throat, the very sound of which made her shudder.

At length the darkness and the solitude seemed to become insupportable to her; she started forward and opened the door, with the intention of fleeing from the room. It had suddenly become odious to her. She took one step into the hall and met Elizabeth face to face. The woman saw the letter which Elsie held in her hand, caught the recoiling gesture which she instinctively made, then for an instant they both stood still, staring at each other.

Suddenly Elizabeth caught Elsie's hand, drew her back into the library, and, once there, closed and locked the door.

For more than an hour the pair were alone in that darkened apartment. When at last they emerged from it they were both deadly white, and exhausted as if by passionate weeping. Not a word was spoken between them, but they turned away from each other like ghosts that had no resting-place on earth.