‘She did—­she did; she loved me more—­far more than I deserved,’ was Arthur’s vehement interruption.

‘Well, then,’ Frank continued, ’if she did, and were living, she would have come to you, or answered your letters, or sent you some messenger.’

Frank’s voice trembled here, and be seemed to see again the cold, still face of the dead woman, whose lips, could they have spoken, might have unlocked the mystery and brought a message from Gretchen’

‘True, true,’ Arthur replied.  ’She would have come or written.  How long is it since I came home?’

‘Four years next October,’ Frank said.

‘Four years;’ Arthur went on, ’is it so long as that?  And it, was then more than three years since I had seen her.  Everything was blotted out from my mind from the time that I entered that accursed maison de sante until I found myself in Paris.  I am afraid she is dead.’

Just then Charles came in with lights and the chocolate his master always took before retiring, and so Frank said good-night, and went out upon the broad piazza, hoping the night air would cool his heated brow, or that the laughter and prattle of Jack and Maude, who were frolicking on the gravel walk, would drown the voice of the shadow which said to him: 

’But for the number of years he says it is since he saw Gretchen, there could be no doubt, and you would be the biggest rascal living.  As it is, you need not distress yourself—­Jerry is nothing to him; and if she were, you have gone too far now to go back.  People would never respect you again.  And then there is Maude.  You cannot disgrace her.’

No, he could not disgrace his darling Maude, who, as if guessing that he was thinking of her, came up the steps to his side, and seating herself upon his lap, pushed the hair from his forehead with her soft fingers, and kissed him lovingly as she was wont to do.

‘My beautiful Maude,’ he thought, for he knew she would be beautiful, with her black hair, and starry eyes, and brilliant complexion, and he loved her with all the strength of his nature.  To see her grow into womanhood, admired and sought after by everyone, was the desire of his heart, and as he believed that money was necessary to the perfect fulfilment of his desire, for her sake he would carry his secret to the grave.

‘Are you sick, papa?’ Maude asked, looking into his pale face, on which the moon shone brightly.

‘No, pet,’ he answered, ’only tired.  I am thinking of little Jerry Crawford.  She was here this afternoon,’

’Yes, I saw her in the park with Harold.  Isn’t he handsome, papa? and such a nice boy! so different from Tom,’ said Maude, and then she went on:  ’Jerry is pretty too; prettier than I am; her hair curls and mine doesn’t, but her dress is so ugly—­that old high apron and calico gown.  What makes her so poor and me so rich?’

Mr. Tracy groaned inwardly, as he replied: