"My darling is dead," he said to himself, "she is dead, and they are afraid to tell me. I can die too!" and opening the door he went in. At the sight of him Mark turned away, but Mattie went up to him with outstretched hands. CHAPTER XXXII. "I AM A MAN, AND I WILL HAVE JUSTICE." "I know," said Earle, gently. "I know; you are afraid to tell me; Doris is dead." "It would be better, perhaps," said Mrs. Brace; "death is not always the greatest trouble that can happen to us." Then Earle drew nearer, and a more terrible fear came over him. There were troubles worse than death! Surely not for him. Great drops stood on his brow, the veins in his hands swelled like huge cords, his lips grew white as the lips of the dead. "Tell me what it is," cried he, in a hoarse voice. "You are killing me by inches. What is it?" "She has gone away from us," said Mrs. Brace. "She has gone and left us." He started back as though the words had stabbed his heart. Mattie laid her hand on his arm. By the might of her own love she understood his fears. "Not with any one else, Earle," she said. "Do listen to me, dear. She has not gone away with anyone else; but life here was dull for her; she did not like it; she has gone abroad to teach little children. It is not so dreadful, Earle, after all." But he looked at her with vague, dull eyes. "Not like the life!" he repeated. "But I am here! Dull! How could it be dull? I am here!" "Tell him the truth, Mattie," said Mrs. Brace; "there is no use in deceiving him any more; he has been deceived long enough; tell him the truth." He looked from one to the other with haggard eyes. "Yes, tell me," he said; "tell me the worst." "She did not love you, Earle," said Mattie, with a deep sob; "she has gone away because she did not want to marry you." "I do not believe it!" he gasped. "I will not believe it! Oh, Heaven! How do you dare to slander her so? She did love me. Why should she pretend? She promised to be my wife; why should she if she did not love me?" "My poor Earle," said Mattie; and in his hand she placed the letter. "I never thought there was anything wrong," she continued; "but when neither of you returned, I went back into her room to look for something, and found these letters. They were pinned to the toilet cushion. One is for us, one for you. Oh, Earle, if I could but bear your sorrow for you." He turned away, without one word, and opened the letter. They could never tell how he had read it, how long he was in mastering its contents, what he thought of them, or how he bore the pain. He made no comment as he read, his white lips never moved, no murmur escaped him; but, after a time--it seemed to them endless time--he fell with his face to the ground, as a brave man falls when he receives a death-wound. "It has killed him," said Mrs. Brace. "Oh! that false, wicked girl! He is dead, Mattie?" But Mattie, quick as thought, had raised his head and held it in her arms.