For an instant Elizabeth looked confused, then she snatched the shawl from his hand, crying angrily: "Well, sir, I was out--now are you satisfied?" "Always deception," he said, "even in trifles." "Of course," she exclaimed, in the same passionate tone, "you make it necessary. I went out because these nervous attacks make me feel as if I were choking--you are so suspicious, you see something to suspect in the most trivial action." "So you----" "Told you a lie," she added, when he hesitated; "well, let it go at that. Are you through with this examination--have you any more questions to ask?" "That tone--that look, Elizabeth; you are not like yourself!" "No wonder--blame yourself for it. I cannot and will not endure this system of _espionage_--I will have my liberty--that you may understand!" Mellen's passionate temper flamed up in his face, but he controlled it resolutely and did not speak. "Be good enough to say all you wish and have done with the subject," she continued in the same irritating tone, utterly unlike her old method of parleying or enduring his evil words. "I have nothing to ask," he said; "you are nervous and excited--we won't quarrel to-night." He went out of the room, Elizabeth fell upon her knees by the couch, and groaned aloud. "Oh! I am no longer myself! What wonder! what wonder!" She drew a letter from her bosom and began to read it, moaning and crying as she read; then she threw it in the fire, stood watching till the last fragments were consumed, then sinking into a chair, buried her face in her hands. She remained a long time in that despondent attitude, her whole frame shaking at intervals with nervous tremors, and her breath struggling upwards in shuddering gasps. There was a knock at the door at length. "Who is there?" she called sharply; "what do you want?" "Miss Elsie wished to know if you were coming to tea," said a servant. "There is a gentleman come to see Mr. Mellen from the city, ma'am." Elizabeth started up and went on dressing; as was usual with her after one of those strange excitements, a sudden fever crimsoned her cheeks and brightened her eyes. She went downstairs and received her guest with affable grace, which contrasted painfully with her late excitement, and before the evening was over, seemed to have forgotten the hasty words she had spoken to Mellen, and was like her old self again. CHAPTER XLV. THE TIGER IN HIS DEN. IT was a small room, in one of those mysterious hotels in the narrow streets near the Battery, which appear to be usually appropriated to foreigners, and about which dark-whiskered, sallow-faced individuals may be seen lingering at all hours of the day, their very faded, seedy appearance calling up images of duns, scant dinners, and a whole train of petty evils.