Rose Alstine did not visit the widow in her prison home for some days after her encounter with the counterfeit August Bordine. In fact, she was quite ill for a time, and kept her room, refusing to see any one, not excepting her cousin Janet.

"What a tormented little fool," declared the old maid. "If a man had used me as this one has Cousin Rose, do you think I'd take on, and make myself miserable over his villainy? No, I wouldn't—"

"But you'd go for another man at once," put in Sallie, the maid, who had overheard the remark of Miss Williams.

"Faugh! I'd keep clear of the vampires, I tell you," snorted the old maid, with a toss of her diminutive head.

"It seems you've been doing that pretty thoroughly in the past, Miss
Williams," retorted Sallie, with a malicious little laugh.

"What do you mean by that?" demanded Miss Williams, tartly.

"Oh, don't fly mad, Miss, I was only speaking from a historical point of view. Judging from the past, it seems to me you wouldn't be apt to have more than a dozen beaux dangling after you after they'd used you mean as you say—"

"Girl, I'll have you discharged."

"You can't do that," retorted Sallie, defiantly.

"I'll show you, huzzy!" and the old maid flounced from the room.

"I'd like to see the likes of her turning me off," muttered the maid. "I don't think Miss Rose'll pay any attention to that vinegar-cruet."

And in this opinion the maid was not far wrong. Rose did not permit her cousin to interfere in the least with the internal relations of the household.

In the evening, while Rose was in the parlor for the first time in several days, a visitor was announced, a gentleman.

"Who is it, Sallie?"

"Stranger, ma'am."

"What does he want?"

But at this moment the visitor took the liberty to make himself known in person, a tall, slender man, with gray beard, neatly dressed, and evidently of the upper class.

Rose greeted the stranger politely and offered a chair.

Of course the maid, seeing that she was no longer needed, passed out and closed the door.

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, sir?" questioned Rose.

"I could not stay away longer. I have been burning to see you and have it out," said the man in a trembling voice; then, with a quick movement he removed a wig and revealed a young and pleasant face.

Rose recoiled.

"August Bordine!"

He stood before her with outstretched hands and pleading eyes. It was hard for her to resist that look, yet she viewed him coldly, and refused to look in his face.

"Don't scorn me until you hear my plea, Rose," he said in a passionate outcry, that thrilled a chord in her heart.

"Oh, sir, why did you come? Are you not aware that you risk your life?"

"I would risk Heaven for you, my darling. I know how much I risk in coming here, but I must have this horrible unrest settled for all time. See, on my bended knees I swear to you, Rose, I am innocent of the murder of that poor girl. It is a great mistake all round, and I mean to give myself up and stand trial.

"I have been a coward without your love, Rose. You cannot imagine how your scorn has weakened me, and the whole affair has been one round of ghastly mistakes. I am here to-night to tell you the truth. You have constantly denied me audience, and so to-night I resolved to see you or die in the attempt. As an excuse I plead only my deep love, and my innocence, which I believe I shall be able to prove. I hear that you have been kind to my mother in prison, and to-day I learn that she was permitted to return to her lonely home through your interference in her behalf.

"For this I thank you, and if a life-time of devotion can repay you it shall be yours—"

"Cease, sir," Rose interrupted at the first opportunity. "I am willing to believe you innocent of that awful crime at Ridgewood, but there are other crimes as wicked as murder—"

"I know," he cried, rising and clasping his hands, while he bent a pleading, wistful look into her face. "You refer to that scene in the garden."

"I do," coldly.

"You have never permitted me to explain that."

"It is not susceptible of explanation."

"It is—"

"I must take counsel of my senses, Mr. Bordine," persisted Rose, trampling fiercely on her own heart. "I know that that woman was your wife. I heard enough to convince me of this. Your perfidy ought to make me hate you."

"And you do hate me, Rose?"

"No—"

"Thank Heaven for that."

"Leave me now, Mr. Bordine."

"Mr. Bordine!" he cried bitterly. "It is August no longer. You would drive me from you without permitting me to explain. You are unjust, Rose."

"Never. Would to Heaven I could be!"

What did she mean?

A sudden, wild hope entered the heart of the schemer. He was making even better progress than he had anticipated.

"You will, you must hear my explanation of that scene in the garden," persisted he. "If you can scorn and cast me aside after you know the truth then I am willing to go."

Rose sank to a seat.

She had been standing, up to this moment, but now she felt strangely weak and unsteady. He, however, refused to be seated until, as he said, he made his peace with her.

Their interview had a witness suspected by neither.

Miss Williams, piqued at the attentions her cousin received, resolved to play the eavesdropper, and so she crouched in the hall at the parlor door and listened to every word that fell from the lips of the gentleman visitor.

Although Miss Williams was not the brightest female in the world, she was far removed from a fool, and soon she learned enough to convince her that the outlaw, August Bordine, was in the parlor.

This discovery was one which agitated the old maid not a little.

She remembered the immensity of the reward offered for this man, and realized that if she could win a portion of it, it would be of wonderful help to her as a matter of pin-money, and it might influence some man to take pity on her single state and propose.

When the old maid had revolved these thoughts in her brain sufficiently, she rose to her feet and donning hat and shawl hastened from the house.

"You imagined that that poor woman you heard addressing me as husband that day was my wife," proceeded Barkswell, after a moment of silence, "but that was where the trouble came in and the mistake rose."

"Do you deny—"

"It is not necessary. That woman was my sister, but she has been out of her mind for years. Four years ago I placed her in an asylum near Rochester for treatment, and this spring she left the place, declared cured by the doctors. Of course I was overjoyed at this, and hastened to remove her to my home in this city, where I have resided for more than two years, as you know. Mother wished to keep the fact of her having a daughter secret until we were sure that the terrible malady would not return. It did return, and so we have kept my poor sister very close for some time. She has strange hallucinations, and imagines that I am her husband, and that she is ill-treated. It was a love affair that turned her brain, and I suppose this has much to do with her present hallucination."

In measured tones he uttered this information, and it did not seem possible that the man was uttering a deliberate lie.

Rose moved uneasily in her seat.

His dark eyes, full of an intense love-light, were fixed on her face.

He saw that his falsehood was having its effect.

"You no doubt wonder why you haven't heard of this sooner. You must remember that I have failed to gain an audience with you since that hour."

"August, are you speaking the truth?"

Her face was ghastly white, and her full bosom rose and fell with the violence of her inward emotions.

"If you doubt, I am ready to swear it," he cried, sinking to her feet once more, bowing his head as a subject might to his sovereign.

"No, no," she cried suddenly. "Rise up, August. Heaven help me and you if this is a deception. I can do no other way than to believe."

He uttered a glad cry and pressed her hands to his lips, covering it with kisses.

She sat like one in a dream, unresisting, feeling a portion of bliss, yet filled with a vague alarm that was far from pleasant.

"And now I shall not fear to brave the world, and proclaim and prove my innocence," he cried boldly, coming to his feet.

She regarded him with a faint, fluttering heart, the faintest impress of a smile on her beautiful face.

Was it possible that happiness was in store for her in the near future?
Even while these thoughts filtered through her brain he spoke again.

"Poor Iris, she will no longer suffer."

"Your sister?"

"Yes; she died to-night."

"That is terrible."

"And yet it is best so. Insanity is far worse than death; at any rate it seems so to me," he said solemnly and slow. "And now, dear Rose, I have but one request to make. If we could only be married before this trial I should feel doubly strong to face the world."

She opened her lips to reply, but the words were drowned in their inseption by the crash of feet in the hall.

Swiftly the man sprang across the carpet and turned the key in the lock, just as a hand shook the door, and a loud voice demanded admittance.