ed to that in my veins would kill
me. You may think this pride a weakness, but it is too deeply rooted in
my nature ever to be eradicated. When I look about the world and see
girls disgracing themselves by improper marriages, elopements, often
social crimes, which must blight their lives and those of all connected
with them, I think what I should do under such circumstances.

"Elizabeth, I could not endure it. You are my wife; I love you more
deeply than you know of; but I tell you that I could better bear sorrow
which came to me through my wife, than the weakness or dishonor of one
who claimed my name by right of birth. It is an inherited pride, which
has, I know, come down from father to son, and will go with me through
life.

"But Elsie is safe--in your hands quite safe. I rest upon that thought.
I remember her loveliness, her innocence, her sweet childish ways, and I
am at peace again, knowing that you will care for her."

* * * * *

This was the letter Grantley Mellen had written during his long exile,
and his wife sat reading it in the presence of that sleeping girl.

After a time Elizabeth folded up the letters, kissed them passionately,
and laid them away.

"Perhaps it is the last time," she murmured. "The last time! I must not
think of it. Oh, my God, how will this day pass?"

She began walking up and down the rooms again, treading softly that she
might not disturb Elsie's slumber. This time her movements had some
purpose. She went into her dressing-room, took her riding dress from a
wardrobe and hastened to put it on. She grew cold, and her poor hands
shivered as she drew on her gauntlet gloves, and tied the veil over her
hat. In passing through the next room, the unhappy woman lingered a
moment to look on that sleeping girl, and her soul filled itself with
the cruel desolation of this thought.

"He will not feel it so very much when it is only me on whom disgrace
falls," she thought, with mournful satisfaction. "For her at least I
shall have done my best. I have struggled so hard to keep the fair
creature he loves from harm. When I am swept from his path, like a black
cloud that had no silver lining for him, he will be happy with her. I
ought to be comforted by this. Yet, oh, my God! my God! this thought
alone makes the worst of my misery. They will be so happy, and without
me!"

In passing down stairs Elizabeth met Dolf, moving dejectedly up from the
basement story w