They were coming upstairs. He heard the heavy blundering footsteps of two men, and knew what they were after. Creeping softly to the door he drew the bolt back with intense caution, and stealing into the little chamber, fell upon the floor and held his breath, listening. He heard the coffin-lid closed; the slow turning of the screws; a sudden jar, and then the footsteps again, broken and disturbed by the mournful burden those two men carried. Then all was still for a moment, and up through the passage, vibrating like electricity through that evil soul, came the sound of a clear, solemn voice, reading the burial service. Still he listened, with his head lifted from the floor, and supporting himself by one arm like a worn-out gladiator. A sort of terror had seized upon him with the sweet low sound of that voice. Great drops gathered upon his forehead and grew cold there. He was like an evil spirit looking through the gates of Paradise. Then came another pause, followed by the slow roll of wheels and the tramp of horses. North leaped to his feet, and threw up the window. A hearse was moving heavily down the street, and close behind it rode Grantley Mellen, alone. Near the Piney Cove mansion was an ancient burying-ground, with the graves of many generations crowded around a little stone church, which rose up in solemn stillness among a grove of cypress trees and wild cedars. In one of the sunniest corners of the ground a grave was dug, and a pile of blossoming turf was laid ready to cover that hapless woman in her place of rest. While the men performed their sad work, Mellen stood by, with his head bared reverentially, and the heart in his bosom standing still. When he turned away it was with a deep, solemn sigh of relief. The bitterness and the pain of his first love was buried forever. Henceforth Elizabeth would have no rival, even in his memory. Mellen went home a calmer and a better man, after laying his lost one down in her grave. Hitherto her memory had been an aching bitterness, but with death came forgiveness, and out of that his spirit arose chastened, gentle and tending towards a healthy cheerfulness. Elizabeth was too deeply observant not to remark the softened seriousness of her husband's manner when he came home that day, but every look of tenderness that he gave her was a pang, and smote her worse than reproaches. Could the wife who deceived her husband find joy in the confidence which was but a mockery of her deceit. Many times during those few days Elizabeth wished that her husband would be harsh and cruel again. CHAPTER XXIX. TOM FULLER'S LETTER. As they were sitting at dinner the next day, Mellen inquired about Fuller. "I have quite forgotten to ask you about Tom," he said; "he was in France when you last wrote to me." "He has not come yet," Elizabeth replied; "the house in which he was employed, concluded to keep him at Bordeaux for a time; in his last letter he wrote that he might be gone another year."