gaze. He yielded all at once--she knew she had
conquered. He sank down on one knee before her, and bowed his face upon
his hands. She stooped over him, her hair swept his shoulders, the brown
mingling with the deeper chestnut of his curling locks.

"You will promise me, Mr. Trevlyn?"

He looked up suddenly.

"What will you give me, if I promise?"

"Ask for it."

He lifted a curl of shining hair.

"Yes," she said. "Promise me what I ask, and I will give it to you."

He took his pocket-knife and severed the tress.

"I promise you. I break my vow; I seek no revenge. I forgive John
Trevlyn, and may God forgive him also. He is safe from me. I submit to
have my parents sleep on unavenged. I leave him and his sins to the God
whom he denies; and all because you have asked it of me."

Slowly and silently they went up to the house. At the door he said no
good-night--he only held her hand a moment, closely, and then turned
away.

PART II.

Paul Linmere's wedding-day drew near. Between him and Margie there was
no semblance of affection. Her coldness never varied, and after a few
fruitless attempts to excite in her some manifestation of interest, he
took his cue from her, and was as coldly indifferent as herself.

A few days before the tenth of October, which was the day appointed for
the bridal, Dick Turner, one of Paul's friends, gave a supper at the
Bachelors' Club. A supper in honor of Paul, or to testify the sorrow of
the Club at the loss of one of its members. It was a very hilarious
occasion, and the toasting and wine-drinking extended far into the small
hours.

In a somewhat elevated frame of mind, Mr. Paul Linmere left the rooms of
the Club at about three o'clock in the morning, to return home. His way
lay along the most deserted part of the city--a place where there were
few dwellings, and the buildings were mostly stores and warehouses.

Suddenly a touch on his arm stopped him. The same cold, deathly touch he
had felt once before. He had drank just enough to feel remarkably brave,
and turning, he encountered the strangely gleaming eyes that had frozen
his blood that night in early summer. All his bravado left him. He felt
weak and helpless as a child.

"What is it? what do you want?" he asked brokenly.

"Justice!" said the mysterious presence.

"Justice? For whom?"

"Arabel Vere."

"Arabel Vere! Curse her!" he cried, savagely.

The figure lifted a spectral white hand.

"Paul Linmere--b