ty it was to be surprised at nothing, were evidently
astonished at these signs of agitation in the most urbane and reposeful
visitor at the club-rooms. With a hurried step he descended to the
street, stepped into his sleigh, buried himself to the chin in furs, and
the driver dashed off with a ringing of bells and a flourish of the whip
around his horses' ears, that made them dance like Russian leaders.

The day was growing dusky, and General Harrington urged the driver on,
for he was eager to reach home and have an interview with his wife,
before the younger Harrington could reveal his secret. Trusting much to
Mabel's noble powers of forgiveness, and more to the allurements of his
own eloquence, which should so word his contrition that it would be sure
to touch a nature like hers, he was only anxious to forestall her anger
by what would appear to be a frank confession of his fault; thus, by
throwing himself upon her mercy, and challenging the generosity which
had never yet failed him, he hoped to retain control of the wealth which
had become doubly important from the lavish expenditure of the last few
weeks.

Thus, full of anxiety and terror regarding a revelation that James
Harrington would have died rather than make to Mabel, the old gentleman
dashed on toward home, eager to be in advance with his disgraceful news.

The house was very still when he entered it; faint lights broke through
the library windows and from the balcony in front of Mabel's boudoir,
but the rest of the house was dark and quiet as death. General
Harrington had left his sleigh at the stables, which were some distance
from the house--thus the noise of his arrival was lost on the inmates;
and, as he let himself in at the front door with a latch-key, no one was
aware of his presence.

Flinging off his wrappers in the hall, he looked into the usual
sitting-room to assure himself that it was empty; then going to his own
room long enough to change his boots for a pair of furred slippers, he
went at once to Mabel's boudoir. A fire burned dimly on the hearth, and
over the table hung a small alabaster lamp, that seemed full of
imprisoned moonlight, but was not brilliant enough to subdue the quiet
shadows that lay like a mist all around the room. Mabel was not there,
and the General sought for her in the bed-chamber adjoining, but all was
still; the faint light that stole in from the alabaster lamp, revealed a
snowy night-robe laid upon the bed, and ever