hich had haunted her during the day. Then, as she thought what
the coming of the night would bring her, the heart in her bosom
shuddered. Now it stood still and seemed hardening into iron. If some
spirit had appeared with an articulate warning, she could not have been
more convinced that exposure and ruin were approaching her with rapid
strides. She would do her best, but that, she knew in her innermost
soul, would lead to destruction. She looked back on the past weeks, and
tried to remember if her plans had failed through her own weakness.

Before Mellen's return it had seemed possible to carry them out, to bury
the past utterly, and build a new palace of hope on its grave, but they
had all failed. It was not her fault, she had borne up as bravely as any
woman could have done under the circumstances, had been as circumspect
and guarded as it was possible to be, but from the moment of his
inopportune arrival, some untoward event had occurred to thwart every
project she had endeavered to carry out for her own salvation.

"It is fate," she muttered, in a cold whisper; "it is fate! Oh, my God,
help me, help me, for I have yet a right to pray!"

No, even the consolations of prayer were denied this most wretched
woman; the words seemed to freeze upon her lips; she could only moan in
that broken whisper:

"My God, help me, help me!"

As she sat there, the door opened and Elsie softly entered the
apartment. She had taken off her evening-dress, and put on a loose white
wrapper, and over that had thrown a crimson shawl, which made the pallor
that had come over her face still more apparent.

There was no light in the chamber except that given by the fire.

Elizabeth had extinguished the lamps; the gloom and the shadows befitted
her mournful thoughts.

"Bessie, Bessie?" called Elsie, unable at first to distinguish any
object in the half light. "Are you there?"

"Here I am," was the hoarse answer; "come in."

"I was so afraid to be alone with Grant," continued Elsie; "I felt as if
I should scream every moment."

"What did he say to you; what did my husband talk about?"

"Oh, nothing in particular; he said very little; he did not even ask
where you were. I told him you had gone to bed with a headache, but he
did not seem to hear. He sat and looked in the fire, as if he were
reading something in the red hot coals; after a long time he asked me if
I loved him, and kissed my forehead. That was all."

Elizabeth struck her