th a shudder of horror and repulsion
she waved him back. And still he was blind.

"And your children, Mr. Thorndyke?"

"That shall be as Helen wishes. I don't care for them--never cared for
children. She may keep them if she wishes. If I had loved _her_ it would
be easy to love her children. You consent then, Norine? It is as I
hoped. You forgive the past. You will again be my wife. Oh, darling! my
whole life shall be spent in the effort to blot out the past and make
you entirely happy. You love me still--say it, Norine!"

He clasped both her hands vehemently. She arose to answer. Before the
words of passionate scorn on her lips could be spoken the inner door
opened and Helen Thorndyke stood on the threshold.

"Great Heaven! Helen!"

He dropped Norine's hands and staggered back. For a moment he almost
thought it her ghost, so white, so ghastly with concentrated passion was
she. She advanced,--she tried to speak--at first the words died huskily
away upon her dry lips.

"I have heard every word," she panted. "You coward! You basest of all
base cowards. Though I live for a hundred years, these are the last
words I shall ever speak to you. Living or dying I will never forgive
you--living or dying I will never look upon your face again! Norine!"

She turned to her suddenly:

"You offered me a home and a competence once, apart from him. For his
sake I refused it then--for my children's sake I ask it now. I have no
hope left but in you and--Heaven."

Her head fell on Norine's shoulder with one dry, hard sob, and there
lay. Norine Darcy drew her to her side, her arm clasping her closely,
and so--faced Laurence Thorndyke.

"'Every dog has his day'. It is not a very elegant adage, but it is a
true one. Your day has been, Mr. Thorndyke--- mine has come. For it I
have hoped, and worked, for it I have let you go on--for it I have
listened to the words you have spoken to-night--for it I concealed your
wife yonder, that she might hear too. You love me, you say--I am glad to
believe it--since a little of the torture you once made me feel you
shall feel in return. For myself all memory of the past is gone. You are
so utterly indifferent to me, so utterly contemptible in my sight, that
I have not even hatred to give you. To me you are simply nothing. After
this hour I will never see you, never speak to you. For your wife and
children I will provide. You did your best to ruin me, soul and body,
because you hated Richard Gilber