he heart ached in her
bosom.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE HUSBAND'S LAST CHARGE.

Elizabeth Mellen shuddered visibly when the first sunbeam fell through
the curtains. Only a few moments were left to them. Sick and faint, she
lifted her head and turned her imploring eyes on her husband's
face--eyes so full of yearning agony, that his heart must have leaped
through all its doubts to meet hers, had not his glance been fixed upon
Elsie. The long, black lashes drooped over those gray eyes when she
found their appeal disregarded, and the young wife shrunk within
herself, shuddering at her own loneliness.

A servant came to the room, and by a sign announced breakfast. It was
the last meal they might ever take together. This thought struck them
both, and brought their hands in contact with a thrilling clasp. He drew
her arm through his, and led her down stairs. She felt his heart beating
against her arm, looked up, and saw that he was regarding her with
glances of searching tenderness. Her eyes filled; her bosom heaved; and,
but for a wild struggle, she would have burst into a passion of tears
before the servant, who held the door open for them to pass into the
breakfast-room.

How bright and cheerful it all looked--the crusted snow of the linen;
the delicately chased silver, and more delicate china; and this was
their last meal. She sat down and poured out his coffee. Her hand
trembled, but she tried to smile when he took the cup and praised its
aroma. She drank some herself, for the chill at her heart was spreading
to her face and hands.

Little was said during the meal, and less was eaten. Elizabeth looked at
the clock as a convict gazes on the axe that is to slay him. She counted
the moments as they crept away, devouring the brief time yet given to
them, while he glanced at his watch, nervously every few minutes.

Then the husband and wife went up stairs again. Elizabeth turned from
Elsie's door and went into her own dressing-room. With all her
magnanimity she could not give her husband up to his sister during the
last moments of his stay. He followed her into the room, but directly
lifted the curtain and went into Elsie's boudoir, where the young girl
lay profoundly sleeping. Elizabeth would not follow. Her heart was
swelling too painfully. She sat down, clasped both hands in her lap, and
waited like a statue.

He had only crossed the boudoir, bent over Elsie, and pressed a cautious
but most loving kiss on her for