ly enough under that frowning
sky.

"It is like my life," muttered Mellen; "like my life, with an added
blackness coming up beyond."

Then his mood changed; again that fierce passion swept over his face,
leaving it dangerous and terrible.

"If that woman has deceived me," he cried aloud, "this time I will have
no mercy! She shall taste her degradation to the very dregs; there is no
depth of shame through which I will not drag her, though I ruin my own
soul in doing it! But it can't be! it can't be! It were death to believe
it! Oh, Elizabeth, Elizabeth!"

Every tender feeling of his nature went out in that last agonizing cry.
For the first time he realised all that this woman had been to him, how
completely she had woven herself with his life, and what a terrible
blank it would become if he were forced to tear her from it.

He made an effort to check those black thoughts, to invent excuses; he
was almost inclined to rush into the house, beg for the truth and
promise pardon in advance. Then he called himself a weak fool for the
idea that any excuse was possible.

"I will wait--I have the clue--it will all be made clear soon. I will
wait."

He clenched his hands with a groan that was half anguish, half rage, and
hurried more swiftly into the depths of the woods.

He came out upon a little eminence, from whence he could look down on
the paths and avenues leading towards the house, though the dwelling
itself was hidden by the thick growth of trees.

Along the high road he saw his wife riding at full speed toward the
woods, through which she passed with weary slowness, walking her horse
homeward, and looking anxiously down upon his reeking sides, and
smoothing his neck with her hand, as if troubled by those signs of hard
riding.

Where had the woman been? What deception was she practising now?

Mellen could see his wife's face plainly--for she passed near him quite
unconsciously. It was pale and wild with the fear of a hunted animal.

"Traitoress!" he muttered between his teeth, "she thinks to evade me."

He watched the slow progress of Gipsy as she walked toward the house,
taking the lawn, evidently because her rider feared to give warning of
her expedition by the sound of hoofs on the beaten track. He saw
Elizabeth dismount unaided, and go wearily into the house.

Where had she been?

Over and over Mellen asked himself this question, as he sat minute after
minute, pondering over the most bitter thoughts t