"No wonder," he said, "that men go mad; women make devils of them. No wonder they slay that which they love best; women madden them. What have I done?--oh, Heaven! what have I done that I should suffer this? Listen to me before you go. I gave her my love--she has mocked it, laughed at it. I gave her my genius--she has blighted it, she has crushed it. I gave her my heart--it has been her toy and her plaything for a few short months, she has broken it with her white hands, she has danced over it with her light feet. I gave her my life, and she has destroyed it. I am a man, and I will have justice; she shall give back to me what I have given her, or I will kill her." She saw that he was growing more wild with every word: his face flushed hotly, his lips burned like fire, his eyes were filled with flame. She was afraid of him; and yet in this, the darkest hour of his need, she could not leave him. Again and again from her lips, as she knelt there trying to console him, came the prayer of which she never tired--"God save Earle." At last the wild raving--she could only think it raving--ceased; she saw his eyes darken and droop. "He will sleep now," thought Mattie, "and sleep will save him." She drew down the blinds, and shut out the bright sunshine; then, with a long, lingering look at the changed, haggard face, she left him. Mrs. Brace saw her come from the little parlor, looking so white and wan that her mother's heart ached for her. She kissed the pale face. "That wicked girl is not going to kill you as well as Earle," she said. "I will not have you distressed in this way." "Oh, mother!" cried Mattie, "never mind my distress, think of Earle. Earle will go mad or die." "Nothing of the kind, my dear. He was sure to feel very keenly. He loved Doris very much, but he will not die. It takes a great deal to kill. He has too much sense to go mad. He will get over it in time, and be just as fond of some one else." Mattie had a truer insight into his nature than had Mrs. Brace. They went in several times that day to look at him; he lay always in the same position, his face shaded with his hand and turned from the light, sleeping heavily they thought, but sleep and Earle were strangers. He lay there--only Heaven knew what he suffered during these hours of silence and solitude--going over and over again in his own mind all that he had ever said or done to Doris. She had been difficult to win; she had been coy, and he thought proud, sensitive; but he did really believe, from the depths of his heart, that she loved him. What motive could she have had in deceiving him if she had not really loved him? It would have been just as easy to have said so as not. There was no need for the deception. She could have rejected him just as easily as she accepted him.