s
she stood in the magical silence; a trouble had come upon her never
known before in her young life. Perhaps some exclamation broke from
Helene, perhaps she moved unconsciously; or it may be that the hunted
criminal returned of his own accord from the world of ideas to the
material world, and heard some one breathing in the room; however it
was, he turned his head towards his host's daughter, and saw dimly in
the shadow a noble face and queenly form, which he must have taken for
an angel's, so motionless she stood, so vague and like a spirit.

"Monsieur..." a trembling voice cried.

The murderer trembled.

"A woman!" he cried under his breath. "Is it possible? Go," he cried, "I
deny that any one has a right to pity, to absolve, or condemn me. I
must live alone. Go, my child," he added, with an imperious gesture, "I
should ill requite the service done me by the master of the house if I
were to allow a single creature under his roof to breathe the same air
with me. I must submit to be judged by the laws of the world."

The last words were uttered in a lower voice. Even as he realized with
a profound intuition all the manifold misery awakened by that melancholy
thought, the glance that he gave Helene had something of the power of
the serpent, stirring a whole dormant world in the mind of the strange
girl before him. To her that glance was like a light revealing unknown
lands. She was stricken with strange trouble, helpless, quelled by a
magnetic power exerted unconsciously. Trembling and ashamed, she went
out and returned to the salon. She had scarcely entered the room before
her father came back, so that she had not time to say a word to her
mother.

The General was wholly absorbed in thought. He folded his arms, and
paced silently to and fro between the windows which looked out upon the
street and the second row which gave upon the garden. His wife lay the
sleeping Abel on her knee, and little Moina lay in untroubled slumber in
the low chair, like a bird in its nest. Her older sister stared into the
fire, a skein of silk in one hand, a needle in the other.

Deep silence prevailed, broken only by lagging footsteps on the stairs,
as one by one the servants crept away to bed; there was an occasional
burst of stifled laughter, a last echo of the wedding festivity, or
doors were opened as they still talked among themselves, then shut. A
smothered sound came now and again from the bedrooms, a chair fell, the
old coachm