The beach was not far off, and from it rose a sound of lashing waves, hoarse with the thunder of mustering storms. Afar off the moan of the deep had sounded like an entreaty, but now it came full and strong, commanding her to approach. She obeyed these ocean voices like a little child; her powers of reasoning were gone; all consciousness of pain or danger benumbed; everything else had rejected her, but the great ocean was strong, boundless. With one heave of its mighty bosom it would sweep her away forever. She walked steadily on to the beach, forcing her way to the sands; through drifts of seaweed and slippery stones, on, on she walked, slowly, but with horrible firmness, through great feathers of foam that curled upon the sands; on and on through whirlwinds of spray, till a great wave seized her in its black undertow and she was gone. CHAPTER LXVIII. PLANS AND LETTERS. All that day Elsie remained in bed, sleeping a good deal, but so nervous and shaken that she would not permit herself to be left alone for a single instant. Her brother's presence seemed to fill her with fear, and she shrank with a strange sort of timidity from every tender word or soothing caress; still she was wretched if he left her bedside, and there he watched the long day through. Evening came. Mellen was compelled to go through the pretence of another meal; indeed he forced himself to eat, for he began to grow angry with his own weakness. He had thought when the first struggle was over to feel only an icy, implacable resentment against the woman who had wronged him; he was ashamed of the tenderness in his own nature when he found that, stronger than his rage, more powerful than the horror with which he regarded her dishonor, was the love he had believed uprooted suddenly from his heart, as a strong tree is torn up by tornados. Yes, he regretted her! It was not only that his life must be a desolate blank, he pined for her presence. But for his pride he would have rushed out in search of her, and taken her back to his heart, sweeping aside all memory of her sin. He roused himself from what appeared to him such degrading weakness by one thought--the partner in her guilt was his old enemy; a man too vile for vengeance, even. That memory brought all the hardness back to his face, all the insane passion to his soul, but it centered on the man now. That night, in the woman's very presence, he could not take the vengeance that he meditated, but now he was prepared to force her from the villain's grasp--on to repentance. Alone in his library, Grantley Mellen wrote several letters; it was impossible to tell how that meeting would end, and he must make preparations for the worst. When all was done he rose to go upstairs again; a sudden resolution made him pause. He sat down at his desk once more, and wrote these lines: