d.

CHAPTER XIX

_A Miracle_

Elaine, her pale face tense, heard the steps of Arsdale coming up the
stairs to meet her. Donaldson had telephoned at nine that if she had
not yet retired he was going to bring her brother home. She dreaded
the ordeal for herself and for him. She dreaded lest the aversion she
felt for him with the horror of that night still upon her might
overcome her sense of duty; she dreaded the renewed protestations, the
self abasement, the sight of the maudlin shame of the man. She had
gone through the hysterical scenes so many times that it was growing
difficult, especially in her present condition of weakness, to arouse
the necessary spirit to undergo it. Not only this, but she found
herself inevitably pitting him against the strong self-reliant
character of Donaldson. It had been easier for her to condone when she
had seen Arsdale only as the loved son of the big-hearted elder, but
now that this other unyielding personality had come into her life it
was difficult to avoid comparison. Arsdale when standing beside a man
was only pitiable.

He faltered at the door and then crossed the room with a poise that
reminded her of the father who to the end had never shown evidence of
any physical weakness in his bearing. In fact in look and carriage,
even in the spotless freshness of his dress which was a characteristic
of the elder, he appeared like his father. She could hardly believe.
She sat as silent as though this were some illusion.

There was color in the ordinarily yellow cheeks, there was life in the
usually dull eyes, though the spasmodic twitching testified to nerves
still unsteady. When he held out his trembling hand, she took it as
though in a trance. She saw that it was difficult for him to speak.
It was impossible for her. The suggested metamorphosis was too
striking.

He broke the strained, glad silence.

"Elaine, can you forget?"

She uttered his name but could go no further.

"I can't apologize," he stammered, "it's too ghastly. But if we could
start fresh from to-day, if you could wait a little before judging, and
watch. Perhaps then--"

She drew him quickly towards her.

"Can I believe what I see?" she asked.

"I--I don't know what you see," he answered unsteadily.

"I see your father. I see the man who was the only father I myself
knew."

He bent over her. He kissed her forehead.

"Dear Elaine," he said hoarsely, "you see a man who is going to be