The storm was still raging upon the ocean and sweeping its cold way across the island; but Mellen was not a man to rest within sight of his own dwelling, after a long absence, without an effort to reach it in defiance of wind or weather. So, heedless of all protestations, he mounted his horse and rode forward, with the wind howling around him and the rain beating in his face. His temporary attendant grumbled a little at the violence of the storm, while the darkness was so intense that both the horses went stumbling on their way like blind creatures on an unknown path. But Mellen scarcely heeded the danger or discomfort. His eyes were fixed on the lights of his own home, which twinkled now and then through the fog and rain, like stars striving to break through a cloud.

Their road ran along the coast, and they had the rushing winds and roar of the ocean all the way. Before they reached the Piney Cove grounds the blackness of the tempest began to break away overhead; the wind had lulled a little, but the rain still beat, and at intervals the moon would burst through the clouds and add to the ghostly effect of boiling foam in the distance.

They passed through the strip of woodland which extended down to the water's edge, and at last reached the grounds connected with the dwelling upon that side, and came out upon the broad lawn.

"Home at last!" cried Mellen, as a warm glow of lights shone out from his dwelling. "Ride on, my man; you shall sleep here to-night, and return in the morning."

In his exultation Mellen dashed forward, urging his horse across the open space till he was considerably in advance of his attendant. The moon shivered out again for an instant, and Mr. Mellen saw a woman shrouded in a long cloak rushing towards the house. Some instinct, rather than any real recognition of her person, made him cry out, as he leaped from the horse and left him free:

"Elizabeth! Elizabeth!"

The figure paused. There was a faint cry; at the same instant Mellen heard a violent rustle in the shrubbery, with a sudden downpour of raindrops, scarcely noticed, as he hurried towards the lady, but well remembered afterwards. She was standing upright and still, as if that unexpected voice had changed her to stone; her hair had broken loose and was streaming wildly over her shoulders; one hand was lifted above her eyes, as she strained her sight through the gloom.

"Elizabeth!" he called again.

"Who is it?" she cried, in a suppressed voice, that had all the sharpness of an agonised shriek. "Who calls to me?"

He reached her side as she spoke.

"Don't you know me?" he exclaimed. "My wife! my wife! I have come back at last!"

There was one wild look—one heavy breath—he heard a low exclamation:

"My God! oh, my God!"

Before he could discover whether this was a cry of thanksgiving or not, she fell forward and lay motionless at his feet.

After that first second of stupefaction, Mr. Mellen checked the wonderment of the man—who by this time had come up—and between them they carried the senseless woman to the house.

The servant who met them in the hall gave a cry of dismay at the sight of her master thus suddenly entering the house with his wife lying like a dead woman in his arms, and was ready to believe that the whole sight was a ghostly illusion.

"Bring some wine," called Mellen; "is there a fire? Are you deaf and blind, girl?"

"It is the masther!" exclaimed the frightened creature. "It's the masther come back—oh, I thought I'd seed ghosts at last!"

Her cries brought the whole household up from the basement; but regardless of their wonder and alarm, Grantley Mellen carried his wife away towards the library, and laid her upon a couch.

It was some moments before Elizabeth Mellen opened her eyes, then she glanced about with a vacant, startled look, as if unable to comprehend what had happened.

Her husband was standing in the shadow, gazing down at her with the strange, moody look so unlike the active alarm which would have filled the mind of most men, and she did not at first perceive his presence.

"I thought I saw Grantley," she murmured. "I—I have gone mad at last."

"Elizabeth!"

She struggled up on the couch, and looked towards him with a wild expression of the eyes, forced out by recent terror or sudden joy at finding that she had not been deceived by some mental illusion.

"Is it you, Grantley?" she exclaimed. "Is it really you?"

"It is I," he said; "but it is a strange welcome home to a man when he finds his wife wandering about in the storm, and sees her faint at the sound of his voice."

Elizabeth Mellen forced her physical strength back by a sheer exercise of will. She sat upright—a singular expression passed over her face—an inward struggle to appear like herself and act as was natural under the circumstances.

"I was so frightened," she gasped; "I did not expect you for a fortnight—perhaps a month. When I heard your voice I can't tell what I thought—a dread—a terror of something terrible—something supernatural, I mean, came over me."

"But what could have taken you out of doors on a night like this?" he persisted.

She did not hesitate; she hurried to answer, but it was like a person repeating words studied for the occasion, and all the while her two hands clutched hard at the arm of the sofa.

"I don't know what drove me out, the storm made me wild. I thought of the sea—you on it, perhaps—I don't know why I went."

"You are wet," he said—"thoroughly drenched. You must change your dress."

She seemed to grasp at the opportunity to go away, and started up with such eagerness that his suspicious eyes noticed it.

"This is a singular meeting," he said, bitterly; "two years apart, and not a word of welcome."

She turned impulsively towards him, and threw her arms about his neck, with a burst of passionate tears.

"I do love you, Grantley," she cried; "I do love you! I am so glad to see you; but this fright—it was so sudden—so——"

Her voice died away in a sob, and she clung more closely to him, while he kept his arm about her waist, pressed his lips on her forehead and gave himself respite from the whirl of dark thoughts which had been in his jealous mind. The joy of reunion and the pleasure of finding himself at home after that long absence, broke through it all.

He felt her shiver all over, and remembered the danger they both ran standing there in their wet clothing.

"You are cold—shivering—and I am keeping you in these wet things!" cried Grantley, gathering her in his arms and mounting the stairs. "You are drenched, my sweet child. It was wrong to go out in a storm like this. Indeed, indeed it was, dear one."

She made no answer, but was seized with a cold shivering fit in his arms. He carried her into the little sitting-room, and, seating her in an easy chair, took off her hood and cloak, speaking soft, tender words as he removed the garments, and smoothed her hair with a caressing movement of the hand.

"You must change your dress, Elizabeth," he said. "Do it at once. I have some dry clothes in my room, I suppose, which I shall put on."

"Yes," she returned, hurriedly; "go—go at once. You are glad to get home, are you not—glad to see me, Grantley?"

There was a tone of almost piteous entreaty in her voice; she was so disturbed by the shock of his sudden presence that her nerves could not recover their firmness at once.

Grantley Mellen held his wife to his heart and whispered fond and loving words, such as he had breathed during their brief courtship before a shadow clouded over the beauty of their lives.

"There shall be no more clouds," he whispered, "no more trouble. Look up, Elizabeth! Say that you love me—that you are glad as I am."

"I do love you, my husband—with all my heart and soul I love you! I am glad—very, very glad."

"And I love you, Bessie. I did not know how well until I went away. But we shall never part any more—never more."

Elizabeth was weeping drops as cold as the rain on her face. It was unusual for her to allow any feeling of joy or pain to overcome her so completely.

"You are weak and nervous to-night, Bessie," he said, tenderly. "I was wrong to come upon you so suddenly."

"No, no!" she cried, vehemently. But even in her denial she shuddered, remembering whom she had just left and how she had met her husband.

Then she arose to go, but staggered in her walk and held herself up with difficulty. He looked at her with such tender love in his eyes that she held out her arms to him. He drew her close to his bosom:

"Elizabeth, we will be happy now."

"Yes, yes," she said, in the same hurried manner, "we will be happy now—quite happy."

She went out of the room as she said these words and entered her chamber, locking the door carefully behind her, as if she feared that he might intrude upon her.

Half an hour after the newly-united husband and wife met at the supper-table, and Grantley Mellen saw that Elizabeth had quite recovered from the sudden shock of his arrival in that unexpected way.

"I cannot realize it yet," she said, coming into the room and walking up to the hearth where he stood; "I cannot believe you are actually here."

She stole close to his side and folded his hand in hers. For an instant there was a slight hesitation amounting almost to timidity, as if she were doing something or assuming a place to which she had no right, but it passed quickly. She was looking up into his face with a pleasant smile, a little pale yet from her recent emotion, or else those two years which had elapsed since their parting had robbed her of a portion of her girlish bloom,—but self-possessed and full of happiness.

Grantley Mellen looked at her more closely as she stood there in the cheerful light. Two years had changed her, but that was natural; he was altered too.

"Do I look very different, Elizabeth?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"You are browned, you look a little older, perhaps; but you are not really changed—you are Grantley still."

"I cannot tell if you are altered," he said; "I must wait till I have seen you a day or two. You seem paler—thinner."

She shivered a little, but quickly regained her self-control and cheerfulness.

"You cannot judge how I look to-night," she said. "I am sorry Elsie is gone."

"When did she go away, Elizabeth?"

"Only yesterday; she seemed to be getting low spirited, so I advised her to visit Mrs. Harrington for a while."

"I suppose she has not left you often—you two kept together?" he asked, the old jealousy creeping through his voice.

"Of course; she has visited a little," replied his wife, quietly, but she turned away to the table as she spoke.

A servant brought in the supper, and they sat down opposite to each other at the board; but even during those first hours of reunion the strange greeting which his return had met would linger in Grantley Mellen's suspicious mind, and, in spite of Elizabeth's cheerful manner, her color would come and go with tremulous fitfulness. Sometimes there was a restless expression in her eyes, and she seemed with difficulty to repress a nervous start at any sudden sound—she had not recovered wholly, it appeared, from her surprise.

"You will send for Elsie in the morning," he said.

"Oh, yes. One of the men will go to town early."

"Don't tell her I have come."

Elizabeth hesitated.

"She would be so startled if I did not," she said. "I really think her happiness will be greater if she expects to meet you."

"As you please," he returned, a little coldly. "I believe you are right. Surprises generally are failures."

"Where is Dolf?" Elizabeth asked.

"I sent him on with the steamer to deliver some letters I had brought for various people; he will be up in the morning. He is just the same remarkable darkey as ever. His language is even grander, I think."

When they were sitting over the fire again, Mr. Mellen said:

"Now, tell me everything that has happened; your letters were all so vague."

"I had nothing of importance to write, you know," she answered; "we were very quiet here."

"Has Elsie changed much?" he asked.

"Not at all; gay and thoughtless as ever."

There seemed a suppressed bitterness in her voice. Perhaps that gayety and frivolity had sometimes jarred upon the deeper chords in her own nature.

"Little darling!" he said, fondly, "I feel more attached to her than ever since I went away—she seems more like my daughter than my sister."

"And she loves you very dearly, you may be sure of that."

"Oh, yes; nothing could ever come between Elsie and me! I have thought of the promise I made our dying mother; I have kept it, Elizabeth—wherever else I have erred, I have kept that vow."

"Yes," she said; "yes."

But the tone grew a little absent, her eyes wandered about the room as if she were perplexed anew by some thought far away from the subject of their conversation.

"You have been happy and content here, Elizabeth?"

"Not happy," she answered, "I forced myself to be patient; but the time seemed very long."

"Then you do love me?" he cried, suddenly.

She looked at him reproachfully, with some pain stirring under that reproach.

"Can you ask me such questions now?"

"No, no; you do love me. I believe it. But you know what a morbid, suspicious character mine is."

"I had hoped—"

She did not finish her sentence, but sat twisting the links of her chatelaine about her fingers, and looking almost timidly away from his face.

"Go on," he said, "what did you hope?"

"That this long absence might have—that—I hardly know how to say it without offending you."

"You hoped I had learned to accept life more like a reasonable being, isn't that it? I think I have, Bessie; we will be happy now, very happy; you and Elsie and I."

He took her hand and held it in his own; was it true that it trembled, or only his fancy that made him think so?

"We shall be happy, Elizabeth?" he repeated, this time making the words an inquiry.

"I hope so—oh, I do hope so!" she exclaimed with sudden passion; "I want to be happy, oh, my husband! I want to be happy."

She threw her arms about his neck, and her head dropped on his shoulder; but the face which he could not see wore a strained, frightened look, as if she saw some dark shadow rise between her and its fulfilment.

Mellen strained her to his heart, and showered kisses down upon her cold face,—kisses, so warm from the heart, that her cheeks kindled into scarlet under them, and she began to weep those gentle tears that drop from a loving heart like dew from a flower.

"Our lives shall go on quietly and pleasantly now," he continued, giving himself to the full happiness of this reunion; "we will have one long summer, Bessie, and warm our hearts in it."

"I have been in the cold so long," she murmured.

"But that is over—over for ever! We will be trustful Bessie: we will be patient and loving always; can't we promise each other this, my wife?" he said, drawing her closer to his bosom.

"I can, Grantley; I do!"

"And I promise, Elizabeth, I will never be suspicious or harsh again. You and I could be so happy now."

"You will love me and trust me!" she cried, almost hysterically.

"Always, Bessie, always!"

Again he clasped her in his arms, pressing kisses upon her forehead, and murmuring words which, from a husband's lips are sweeter and holier than the romance of courtship could ever be, even in the first glow of its loveliest mystery.

Elizabeth nestled closer to his heart, and a feeling of rest and serenity stole over her so inexpressibly soothing and sweet, that she almost longed to float away for ever from the care and dimness of this world upon the sacred hush of that hour.

There was a sound without which startled them both, making Mellen turn hastily, and sending the sickly pallor anew across Elizabeth's face.

"Only the wind," he said, "blowing one of the shutters to with a crash."

"That is all, it——"

She did not finish; her eyes were fixed upon the window; she made one movement; tried to control herself; looked in the other direction before her husband could observe the eagerness with which her eyes had been strained out into the night; but all her attempts at self-control were in vain; she gave one heavy sigh, and sank lower and perfectly helpless in his arms.

For the second time that evening Elizabeth Mellen had swooned completely away.