hen he used all those
big words to her about his future, those great ends for which he had
claimed her woman's help--he had these things in his mind.

"I think," said Louis Craven presently, touching her gently on the
arm--he had tried once in vain to attract her attention--"I think I hear
some one asking for you outside on the landing--Mrs. Hurd seems to be
bringing them in."

As he spoke, Anthony suddenly sprang to his feet, and the outer door
opened.

"Louis!" cried Anthony, "it is _he_!"

"Are yer at home, miss?" said Minta Hurd, putting in her head; "I can
hardly see, it's so dark. Here's a gentleman wants to see you."

As she spoke, Wharton passed her, and stood--arrested--by the sight of
the three figures. At the same moment Mrs. Hurd lit the gas in the
little passage. The light streamed upon his face, and showed him the
identity of the two men standing beside Marcella.

Never did Marcella forget that apparition--the young grace and power of
the figure--the indefinable note of wreck, of catastrophe--the Lucifer
brightness of the eyes in the set face. She moved forward. Anthony
stopped her.

"Good-night, Miss Boyce!"

She shook hands unconsciously with him and with Louis. The two Cravens
turned to the door. Wharton advanced into the room, and let them pass.

"You have been in a hurry to tell your story!" he said, as Louis walked
by him.

Contemptuous hate breathed from every feature, but he was perfectly
self-controlled.

"Yes--" said Craven, calmly--"Now it is your turn."

The door was no sooner shut than Wharton strode forward and caught her
hand.

"They have told you everything? Ah!--"

His eye fell upon the evening paper. Letting her go, he felt for a chair
and dropped into it. Throwing himself back, his hands behind his head,
he drew a long breath and his eyes closed. For the first time in his
life or hers she saw him weak and spent like other men. Even his nerve
had been worn down by the excitement of these five fighting hours. The
eyes were lined and hollow--the brow contracted; the young roundness of
the cheek was lost in the general pallor and patchiness of the skin; the
lower part of the face seemed to have sharpened and lengthened,--and
over the whole had passed a breath of something aging and withering the
traces of which sent a shiver through Marcella. She sat down near him,
still in her nurse's cloak, one trembling hand upon her lap.

"Will you tell me what made you do this?" she