eatrice did not go in at once. She heard his
quick, retreating steps. Presently they quickened into a run.

CHAPTER XXVI.

WE WILL RETURN TO OUR SECLUSION.

"I am mad," said Bertram to himself. "Mad, as ever was the proverbial
March hare. That girl who passed us in the darkness was Josephine Hart.
Yes, that girl was Nina, and I must, I will, see her again."

His heart was beating tumultuously; he felt the great passion of his
love tingling through all his veins. Money was nothing to him in this
hour, debts were forgotten, disgrace and dishonor were nowhere. Nina and
love were all in all. He _would_ see her, he would kiss her, he
would hold her in his arms, he would, he must. The very elements helped
him as he ran back to the place where he knew she had paused to watch
him. Why had she come back! She knew her power only too well. Why had
she come to exercise it? It was mad of her, wicked of her, it meant his
ruin, and yet he was glad, yet he rejoiced.

The moments seemed endless until he could reach her. Beatrice was as
absolutely forgotten by him at this moment as if she had never existed.

At last he gained the spot where Josephine had brushed past him in the
darkness. He knew it, he knew the sudden curve of the road, the bend in
the path where it began to dip downwards. He stood still, and strained
his eyes to look through the darkness. No one was there. Beatrice had
seen the slender figure leaning against the hedge, but all now was
emptiness and solitude. Not a soul was in sight. On this lonely road not
a being but himself breathed.

He stood motionless, he listened hard. Once even he called aloud:

"I am here, Nina! Here, Nina! waiting for you here!"

But no one responded. He was alone; the vision, the delicious,
heart-stirring vision, had vanished.

Captain Bertram wandered about, restless and miserable, for an hour or
two. Then he went home and retired straight to his room.

That night he did not attempt to keep the secret chamber of his heart in
which Josephine dwelt, locked and barred. No, he opened the doors wide,
and bade her come out, and talked to her. Passionate and wild and loving
words he used, and Beatrice was nothing to him. He did not go to bed
that night. In the morning his face showed symptoms of the vigil he had
passed through. His mother noticed the haggard lines round his eyes, and
she gave vent to a sigh--scarcely audible, it is true, and quickly
smothered.

Mrs. Bertram was