ccount of this Sicilian woman's martyrdom in prison, bearing up
with such serene patience, faithful to her vow, firm in her
determination to save the man who had injured her.

Elsie fairly snatched the volume from his hand.

"Don't read it!" she exclaimed. "What made you choose such a doleful
thing; it makes my flesh creep."

He saw the change which had come over her face, and reproached himself
for his carelessness in having chosen so sad a tale; but the truth was,
in his absorption, he had not the slightest idea of what he was reading,
his voice sounded in his own ears mechanical, and as if it belonged to
some other person.

He went to the table to make a more fortunate selection.

"Here is a volume of parodies," he said, "shall I try those?"

"Anything; I don't care."

He commenced a mischievous travestie of a poem, but though it was
wittily done, its lightness jarred so terribly on both reader and
listener that it was speedily thrown aside. For some time they remained
in gloomy silence, then Elsie began to moan and move restlessly about,
then Mellen tried to rouse himself and be cheerful again.

The afternoon passed very much in the same way. At last Elsie declared
that she would sleep awhile.

"Anything to wear away the time!" she said.

Mellen wondered if he should ever find anything that would shorten the
hours to him, but he held his peace.

"I have such an odd, horrible feeling," said Elsie; "just as if I were
waiting anxiously for something--every instant expecting it."

"That is because you are nervous."

"Perhaps so," she said, fretfully.

He was waiting. Henceforth life would be but one long waiting just for
revenge, then to be free from the dull pressure of this existence.

"How white you are!" Elsie said suddenly. "I don't believe you have
slept at all."

It was true. For nights Mellen had not closed his eyes, but he felt no
approach towards drowsiness even now.

"You will fall sick!" cried Elsie. "What shall I do then?"

"Don't be afraid; I am well and strong."

He said the words with a loathing bitterness of his own ability to
endure.

The more powerful his physical organization, the more years of
loneliness and pain would be left for him to bear. His mind flew on to
the future; he pictured the long, long course towards old age; the
dreary lapse of time which would bring only a cold exterior over his
sufferings, like a crust of lava hardening above the volcanic fires
beneath.