As she sat there, the door opened and Elsie softly entered the apartment. She had taken off her evening-dress, and put on a loose white wrapper, and over that had thrown a crimson shawl, which made the pallor that had come over her face still more apparent. There was no light in the chamber except that given by the fire. Elizabeth had extinguished the lamps; the gloom and the shadows befitted her mournful thoughts. "Bessie, Bessie?" called Elsie, unable at first to distinguish any object in the half light. "Are you there?" "Here I am," was the hoarse answer; "come in." "I was so afraid to be alone with Grant," continued Elsie; "I felt as if I should scream every moment." "What did he say to you; what did my husband talk about?" "Oh, nothing in particular; he said very little; he did not even ask where you were. I told him you had gone to bed with a headache, but he did not seem to hear. He sat and looked in the fire, as if he were reading something in the red hot coals; after a long time he asked me if I loved him, and kissed my forehead. That was all." Elizabeth struck her hands hard together, choked back the groan which rose to her lips, and sat gazing into the fire, as if she too read something terrible in the scarlet caverns which were breaking up and forming in its midst. "I'm so cold," shivered Elsie; "there isn't half enough coal in the grate." Cold! The chill had crept into Elizabeth's very soul which no power of hers could warm, and close to her that weak creature crouched, moaning out her petty complaints! Even then, up to the last, while the glittering hands of the clock were seen in the firelight, creeping swiftly over the dial, and its solemn tick measured off the awful minute on which Elizabeth had agreed with her own soul to go forth on her terrible errand, the wretched woman was compelled to pause in that dim chamber, worse than dead herself, to comfort and soothe the creature who lay like a wounded fawn on the hearth. "What time is it, Bessie?" She raised herself and looked at the clock. "Half-past eleven," answered Elizabeth, solemnly. "My hour has come!" "I thought it was later," groaned Elsie. "Will it never be morning?" "Soon enough," whispered Elizabeth, "soon enough." "I wonder if Grant has gone to bed; I asked him if he was sleepy, and he--" "Well?" "Oh, he only gave a queer sort of laugh, and said, 'Sensible people always are sleepy when it comes bedtime.'" Elizabeth had said truly her hour had come, but she could not go yet; she must wait until all danger of discovery was over--stand there breathless while her husband forgot her and her agony in peaceful sleep. They were both silent for a time, then Elsie began to shiver again, like some young bird lost from its nest in a storm. "Oh, if it would only come morning!" "Soon enough, soon enough," repeated Elizabeth, as before. "Do talk to me; I shall die if you don't!" "What can I say, child? I can only wait--wait."