de herself for
your sake? Neither you nor she nor I hold the creed that justifies such
martyrdom. Am _I_ to teach you such things? Shame! Have the courage of
your convictions. You have released her, and you must be content to
leave her free. The desire to fetter her again is ignoble, dastardly!"

He would neither be shamed nor convinced. With desperate beseechings,
with every argument of passion, no matter how it debased him, he strove
frantically to subdue her to his purpose. But Miriam was immovable. At
length she could not even urge him with reasonings; his prostrate
frenzy revolted her, and she drew away in repugnance. Reuben's
supplication turned on the instant into brutal rage.

"Curse your obstinacy!" he shouted, in a voice that had strained itself
to hoarseness.

The door opened, and Mallard, who had come to see whether Elgar was
still here, heard his exclamation.

"Out of the house!" he commanded sternly. "March! And never let me see
you here again."

Reuben rushed past him, and the house-door closed violently.

Then Miriam's overstrung nerves gave way, and for the first time
Mallard saw her shed tears. She described to him the scene that had
passed.

"What ought I to do? She must be warned. It is horrible to think that
he may find her, and persuade her."

They agreed that she should go to Cecily early next morning. In the
meantime she wrote to Eleanor.

But the morning brought a letter from Reuben, of a tenor which seemed
to make it needless to mention this incident to Cecily.

"I had not long left you," he wrote, "when I recovered my reason, and
recognized your wisdom in opposing me. For a week I have been drinking
myself into a brutal oblivion--or trying to do so; I came to you in a
nerveless and half imbecile state. You were hard with me, but it was
just what I needed. You have made me understand--for to-day, at all
events--the completeness of my damnation. Thank you for discharging
that sisterly office. I observe, by-the-bye, that Mallard's influence
is strengthening your character. Formerly you were often rigorous, but
it was spasmodic. You can now persevere in pitilessness, an essential
in one who would support what we call justice. Don't think I am writing
ironically. Whenever I am free from passion, as now--and that is seldom
enough--I can see myself precisely as you and all those on your side of
the gulf see me. The finer qualities I once had survive in my memory,
bat I know it is hopeles