suppose?'

But Arthur did not reply; he never replied to direct questions as to who
Gretchen was, but after a moment's silence, he said:

'You speak of her as something past. Do you believe she is dead?'

'Yes, I do,' was Frank's decided answer. You have never told me who she
was, though I have my own opinion on the subject, and I know that you
loved her very much, and if she loved you so much--'

'She did--she did; she loved me more--far more than I deserved,' was
Arthur's vehement interruption.

'Well, then,' Frank continued, 'if she did, and were living, she would
have come to you, or answered your letters, or sent you some messenger.'

Frank's voice trembled here, and be seemed to see again the cold, still
face of the dead woman, whose lips, could they have spoken, might have
unlocked the mystery and brought a message from Gretchen'

'True, true,' Arthur replied. 'She would have come or written. How long
is it since I came home?'

'Four years next October,' Frank said.

'Four years;' Arthur went on, 'is it so long as that? And it, was then
more than three years since I had seen her. Everything was blotted out
from my mind from the time that I entered that accursed _maison de
sante_ until I found myself in Paris. I am afraid she _is_ dead.'

Just then Charles came in with lights and the chocolate his master
always took before retiring, and so Frank said good-night, and went out
upon the broad piazza, hoping the night air would cool his heated brow,
or that the laughter and prattle of Jack and Maude, who were frolicking
on the gravel walk, would drown the voice of the shadow which said to
him:

'But for the number of years he says it is since he saw Gretchen, there
could be no doubt, and you would be the biggest rascal living. As it is,
you need not distress yourself--Jerry is nothing to him; and if she
were, you have gone too far now to go back. People would never respect
you again. And then there is Maude. You cannot disgrace her.'

No, he could not disgrace his darling Maude, who, as if guessing that he
was thinking of her, came up the steps to his side, and seating herself
upon his lap, pushed the hair from his forehead with her soft fingers,
and kissed him lovingly as she was wont to do.

'My beautiful Maude,' he thought, for he knew she would be beautiful,
with her black hair, and starry eyes, and brilliant complexion, and he
loved her with all the strength of his nature. To see her grow into
woma