John Poindexter to me? Her father. What are Amos
Cadwalader's hatred and the mortal wrong that called so loudly for
revenge? Dead issues, long buried sorrows, which God may remember, but
which men are bound to forget. Life, life with her! That is the future
toward which I look; that is the only vengeance I will take, the only
vengeance Evelyn can demand if she is the angel we believe her. I will
write to Felix to-morrow.

* * * * *

ENTRY XIV.

I have not written Felix. I had not the courage.

* * * * *

ENTRY XV.

I have had a dream. I thought I saw the meeting of my father with the
white shade of Evelyn in the unimaginable recesses of that world to
which both have gone. Strange horrors, stranger glories met as their
separate paths crossed, and when the two forms had greeted and parted, a
line of light followed the footsteps of the one and a trail of gloom
those of the other. As their ways divided, I heard my father cry:

"There is no spot on your garments, Evelyn. Can it be that the wrongs of
earth are forgotten here? That mortals remember what the angels forget,
and that our revenge is late for one so blessed?"

I did not hear the answer, for I woke; but the echo of those words has
rung in my ears all day. "Is our revenge late for one so blessed?"

* * * * *

ENTRY XVI.

I have summoned up courage. Felix has been here again, and the truth has
at last been spoken between us. I had been pressing Eva to name our
wedding day, and we were all standing--that is, John Poindexter, my dear
girl, and myself--in the glare of the drawing-room lights, when I heard
a groan, too faint for other ears to catch, followed by a light fall
from the window overlooking the garden. It was Felix. He had been
watching us, had seen my love, heard me talk of marriage, and must now
be in the grounds in open frenzy, or secret satisfaction, it was hard to
tell which. Determined to know, determined to speak, I excused myself on
some hurried plea, and searched the paths he knew as well as I. At last
I came upon him. He was standing near an old dial, where he had more
than once seen Eva and me together. He was very pale, deathly pale, it
seemed to me, in the faint starlight shining upon that open place; but
he greeted me as usual very quietly and with no surprise, almost, in
fact, as if he knew I would recognize his presence and follow him.

"