re. You madden her
in turn, you take her from him, you order him from your presence like a
dog. You took from him the one good angel of his life--his wife--and
gave him up boldly to the devil. He has earned it all, you have your
revenge, but--as I stand and look at you here, I wonder--I wonder if
_you_ can be Norine Bourdon."

A dry sob was her answer. He had poured forth the words, passionate
reproach in his voice, passionate anger in his eyes. And she had shrank
away before his just wrath like a guilty thing.

"His home is a gambler's hell--his food and drink are the liquid fire
called whiskey; his associates are the scum and refuse of the city.
Mrs. Darcy, I wish you joy of your work!"

"Spare me," she faltered.

Mr. Gilbert looked silently for a moment at the bowed figure, then took
his hat and turned to go.

"I beg your pardon," he said, very quietly. "I had no right to speak at
all. My only excuse is, that I will not so offend again. How is Helen?"

"As she always is. She says nothing; she lies and suffers in silence.
Will you not see her?"

"Not to-day; it is painful to me; I can see it is painful to her, poor
child. Good-afternoon, madam."

He bowed with formal coldness and was gone. So! she had had her revenge,
but was the "game worth the candle" after all? Is revenge ever worth its
cost, she began to wonder.

"Vengeance is mine, I will repay." Yes, yes, she was beginning to see it
all? And--Christianity apart--revenge, as we wreak it, after our poor
light, is so apt to recoil on ourselves.

So, Norine sits by the window now, thinking over this pleasant interview
and "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancies." Much more bitter than
sweet. Until she had lost Richard Gilbert's good opinion utterly, she
had never known how she prized it.

Presently glancing back from the darkening day without, at some lustier
shout than usual of Master Laurie, she finds Helen's large, mournful
eyes fixed upon her. She rises, crosses over, kneels down by the sofa,
and kisses tenderly the wan cheek.

"My dear," she says, "what is it?"

"Is--," she falters, "is there any news of _him_?"

"No news--only the old story. Nellie! Nellie! I begin to think I have
done grievously wrong."

"How, Norine?"

"By bringing you here that night. I have been sinned against, but I have
also been sinning. I had taken the fortune he prized so highly; I should
have been content with that. But I was not. When I returned there was n