most faultless Ellen could be loved just in the same way in which Emma
Long would be!

As soon as she had finished the nocturne, a sad, low sweet strain, she
came back to the parlor. Not even for the pleasure of giving John the
delight of the music he loved would she stay where she could not see his
face.

But I had already put down my book, and was ready to go. Our good-nights
were short and more formal than usual. All three were conscious of an
undefined constraint in the air. Mrs. Long glanced up uneasily in John's
face as we left the room. Her eyes were unutterably tender and childlike
when a look of grieved perplexity shadowed them. Again my heart ached for
her and for him. This was no idle caprice, no mere entanglement of senses
between two unemployed and unprincipled hearts. It was a subtle harmony,
organic, spiritual, intellectual, between two susceptible and intense
natures. The bond was as natural and inevitable as any other fact of
nature. And in this very fact lay the terrible danger.

We walked home in silence. A few steps from our house we met Dr. Willis
walking very rapidly. He did not recognize us at first. When he did, he
half stopped as if about to speak, then suddenly changed his mind, and
merely bowing, passed on. A bright light was burning in Ellen's room.

"Why, Ellen has not gone to bed!" exclaimed John.

"Perhaps some one called," said I, guiltily.

"Oh, I dare say," replied he; "perhaps the doctor has been there. But it
is half-past twelve," added he, pulling out his watch as we entered the
hall. "He could not have stayed until this time."

I went to my own room immediately. In a few moments I heard John come up,
say a few words to Ellen, and then go down-stairs, calling back, as he
left her room,--

"Don't keep awake for me, wifie, I have a huge batch of letters to answer.
I shall not get through before three o'clock."

I crept noiselessly to Ellen's room. It was dark. She had extinguished the
gas as soon as she had heard us enter the house! I knew by the first sound
of her voice that she had been weeping violently and long. I said,--

"Ellen, I must come in and have a talk with you."

"Not to-night, dear. To-morrow I will talk over everything. All is
settled. Good-night. Don't urge me to-night, Sally. I can't bear any
more."

It is strange--it is marvellous what power there is in words to mean more
than words. I knew as soon as Ellen had said, "Not to-night, dear," that
she divin