No man with any wisdom whatever thinks of returning from a journey without gladdening all the feminine hearts in his sphere with goodly presents. Mellen had by no means forgotten his duty in this respect. He had brought all sorts of curious Chinese ornaments, wonderful pagodas for glove boxes, scented sandal wood repositories for laces, exquisitely carved ivory boxes, and such costly trifles, which kept Elsie in perfect shrieks of delight during the first glow of possession. He had also brought stores of valuable ornaments which had once belonged to wealthy Mexican families, their value increased by the quaint, old time setting, and the romance connected with them; and Elsie consumed hours in adorning herself with them, laughing at her own fantastic appearance, and dancing about like a regular Queen Mab.

Among these presents were a pair of very valuable bracelets, made after a fashion prevalent in Spain two hundred years ago—you may see such things even now preserved among the old Castilian grandees, to be kept through all changes of time and fortune, aired on festive occasions only, and at last, if parted with at all, left in a fit of devotion before some Catholic shrine, as a bribe for some Heavenly privilege.

When Louis XIV. was a youth and in love with Marie Mencini, he once offended her mortally by bestowing a similar bracelet upon a young stranger at the court. I dare wager it required a whole set of jewels to put the haughty Marie in good humor and satisfy her Italian cupidity.

These bracelets Mellen brought with him, and gave one to his wife, the other to Elsie. They were made of a gauntlet-shaped piece of gold, widening at the back of the wrist, and covered with delicate chasing; the gold was so fine and pure that they were supple as a bit of kid. A double row of pearls and emeralds ran about the edge, and the clasps were of large diamonds, arranged in the shape of a shield.

The jewels were exceeding valuable, though to anybody possessing the least fancy, that made their least charm; they were ornaments that had undoubtedly owned a history, and one might have woven a thousand romances concerning the lives of those who had once worn them—that is, one who is not ashamed of being a dreamer in this rushing, practical age.

These were the last gifts Mellen displayed, and they certainly made a very splendid climax to the costly exhibition.

As I said, the first fortnight passed off delightfully, then the visitors departed, and there were a few days of quiet. The Mellens renewed the gayeties then by giving a dinner-party to several families in the neighborhood to whom they owed civility.

"They are stupid people to be sure," Elsie observed, "but then it's a little change from our own special dullness, and we have been alone for three days."

"You are such a foolish child!" returned Mellen.

"Oh, that's all very well," laughed Elsie; "but I don't wish to make a female Robinson Crusoe of myself, I do assure you. Bessie, old Mrs. Thompson will wear that wonderful new head-dress, and her son will ask me to sing and be so scarlet and fluttered when I look at him. Yes, yes, there is some fun to be got out of a dinner-party."

She mimicked the expected guests in turn, and did it so cleverly that her companions were both obliged to laugh, so everybody prepared for the infliction of a country dinner in the best possible spirits. It was rather stupid to be sure, but Elsie so lighted up the room with her radiance, and Elizabeth was so pleasant a hostess in her stately beauty, that everything passed off tolerably, and even the most common-place of the party brightened up a little under the influence of their hosts.

The ladies had risen from the table, giving the gentlemen an opportunity to enjoy their cigars in comfort, and were passing through the hall towards the drawing-room.

The moon shone broad and full through the windows of the hall, and somebody remarked on the beauty of the night. Elsie darted away and flung open the hall door.

"You will get cold; don't stand there," said Elizabeth.

Elsie danced out upon the portico in playful defiance of her sister, and the other ladies went after her, expostulating with true feminine eagerness.

As Elsie ran away to the other end of the veranda something fell upon the stones with a ringing noise, followed by a little shriek which she uttered in starting back.

"What is the matter?" called out several voices, but before they reached her Elsie stooped, picked something up and ran towards them.

"I dropped my brooch," she said; "come in. Elizabeth was right. I am chilled through and through."

She drove them playfully before her, and they all entered the parlors laughing gayly—all but Elizabeth. It was a trifling thing to disturb any one, and her nerves must have been in a strange state from constant watchfulness when this little event could move her so greatly. She leaned against the door-frame quite cold and chill. As Elsie passed her the girl slipped something in her hand, unperceived by the others.

Elizabeth stood motionless until they had all gone, then she started forward with something like desperation, and moved towards the hanging lamp. She opened her hand and looked down at a slip of paper carefully folded about a broken bit of iron, as if to give it weight enough to be thrown with sure aim. She shut her hand quickly as if the sight of the harmless paper filled her with loathing, conquered the convulsion which shook her from head to foot, unfolded the note and read the brief lines it contained.

Then she tore the paper into fragments and thrust them down into the hall fire, watching till even the ashes were gone, fearful that a trace should be left.

"I must!" she muttered, "I must go—I must not wait!" She looked eagerly about; the gay laughter of the men rang up from the dining-room; she could distinguish her husband's voice; through the closed doors of the parlors came the sound of the piano and a bird-like song, gleeful and joyous, with which Elsie was amusing the ladies.

Elizabeth flung her arms aloft with sudden passion.

"Laughing, singing, all enjoying themselves!" she moaned, "and I here with this horrible suffering! I must go—I must go!"

Elizabeth took up a shawl which lay on a chair, opened the outer door softly, hurried down the steps and disappeared among the trees.

Mr. Mellen did not give his male guests a very lengthy opportunity to enjoy their claret and cigars; he had no interest in their talk about the political affairs of the country, a recent bankruptcy, the price of corn, or any of the topics which came up, and some time before it might have been expected, he rose, anxious to counteract the dullness by the presence of his wife and sister, both of whom he had regarded all the evening with new tenderness and admiration, as they sat like a couple of rare birds among all those fussy, ill-dressed women. Elsie was still at the piano when the gentlemen entered. Mr. Mellen looked about for Elizabeth, but she was not there.

"She has not come in yet," said old Mrs. Thompson, in answer to his inquiry.

Elsie heard the words—she had ears keen as a little beast of prey.

"One of the servants stopped her," she called out; "servants always are stopping her—mine will be better regulated. Come here, Grantley, and help me in this old song you like so much."

"In a moment, dear," he replied.

Mellen left the room, fearing that Elizabeth might be drawn away by a headache. He had never felt so tenderly solicitous about her. These last weeks of sunshine had made his proud nature kindly genial. He was anxious to atone for all his old suspicions and little neglects of her comfort.

He was crossing the hall, when the outer door opened, and Elizabeth entered. She did not observe him, and he saw her in all her unrestrained emotion. She was deadly white, and rushed in as if seeking escape from some danger.

"Elizabeth!" he called out.

She started as if he had struck her, but she was accustomed now to controlling herself, and after that first trembling fit, threw off her shawl and forced her face into composure.

"Where have you been?" he inquired.

"Only on the veranda," she said, a little too hurriedly; "I was so tired and my head ached—I wanted air."

He looked at her, dissatisfied and suspicious.

"You might have caught your death," he said; "I wonder at you."

"It was foolish," she returned, trying to laugh, "but the dinner was so tedious. Come into the drawing-room."

She made an effort to speak playfully, as Elsie might have done, but it was a failure.

"Your shoes are damp," he exclaimed suddenly; "you have been on the grass—pray what could take you there?"

"I—I just ran down the steps—I won't do so again."

Elsie heard their voices—she always heard everything—and opened the door.

"Come in here, you naughty people," she cried, laughing and speaking lightly, though there was a gleam in her eyes. "Oh! Mrs. Thompson, husbands and wives who have been separated are worse than lovers."

She forced them to enter, talking in her excited way, and making everybody laugh so much that neither the frown on Mellen's brow nor his wife's paleness were observed.

"You have been out," she found an opportunity to whisper to Elizabeth; "you must be mad!"

"I shall be!" groaned the woman; "I shall be!"