comes at last--death and the judgment. I think, had your
sin been other than it is, I could have promised you forgiveness in your
last hour. But the horror of your crime in choosing that man----"

"I never knew it," she broke in. "Oh, believe that--do believe that! I
ask nothing more--I have no right even to ask so much--but if you should
one day hear that I am dead, believe that I have now told you the
truth."

"You have the means of subsistence," he went on; "the stocks I settled
upon you will be sufficient for your support. If you ever see this
wretch again, it is because you are altogether bad."

"Only say that when I am dead you will pardon me--only say that,
Grantley Mellen, for I have great need of one kind word."

"You will be careful that your name never reaches my ear," he went on,
regardless of her appeal. "Hide yourself in some strange land, where no
tidings of you may ever come near my home. I warn you, for your own
sake."

"Give me your forgiveness in my dying hour; only that, Grantley, for I
have loved you so!"

"I will not promise it. This mockery is worse than your sin!" he
exclaimed. "If it were to keep your soul from eternal torture, I could
not speak a pardoning word."

She fell forward upon the ground.

"Only for my death-bed--your pardon for my death-bed?"

"Never! Never!"

His voice rang out clear and sharp, as steel striking steel. It was like
the sound of prison doors shutting out the last gleam of light and hope
from a condemned criminal.

"Don't be found here," he said; "nor be heard of again. We are parting
now forever. Take the shelter of my roof for the rest of this miserable
night. I will not send you forth in darkness--go, but we meet no more!"

He turned and walked away; she watched him threading his path among the
graves, and it seemed as if she must die when her eyes lost him.

He had reached the palings, he was passing through. She raised herself,
her last expiring energy went out in one agonized appeal:

"Your pardon--for my death-bed--Grantley--husband!"

He never turned, never paused--perhaps he did not hear--but walked
steadily and firmly on.

Elizabeth looked up at the cold sky; the moon was partially hidden, the
dawn was struggling up gray and chilled in the east, the wind moaned
faintly among the graves, and rustled her garments like the stirring of
a shroud; there she stood among the graves of her world, as utterly
helpless and lost as if eternity swept be