"It is I," he said; "but it is a strange welcome home to a man when he finds his wife wandering about in the storm, and sees her faint at the sound of his voice." Elizabeth Mellen forced her physical strength back by a sheer exercise of will. She sat upright--a singular expression passed over her face--an inward struggle to appear like herself and act as was natural under the circumstances. "I was so frightened," she gasped; "I did not expect you for a fortnight--perhaps a month. When I heard your voice I can't tell what I thought--a dread--a terror of something terrible--something supernatural, I mean, came over me." "But what could have taken you out of doors on a night like this?" he persisted. She did not hesitate; she hurried to answer, but it was like a person repeating words studied for the occasion, and all the while her two hands clutched hard at the arm of the sofa. "I don't know what drove me out, the storm made me wild. I thought of the sea--you on it, perhaps--I don't know why I went." "You are wet," he said--"thoroughly drenched. You must change your dress." She seemed to grasp at the opportunity to go away, and started up with such eagerness that his suspicious eyes noticed it. "This is a singular meeting," he said, bitterly; "two years apart, and not a word of welcome." She turned impulsively towards him, and threw her arms about his neck, with a burst of passionate tears. "I do love you, Grantley," she cried; "I do love you! I am so glad to see you; but this fright--it was so sudden--so----" Her voice died away in a sob, and she clung more closely to him, while he kept his arm about her waist, pressed his lips on her forehead and gave himself respite from the whirl of dark thoughts which had been in his jealous mind. The joy of reunion and the pleasure of finding himself at home after that long absence, broke through it all. He felt her shiver all over, and remembered the danger they both ran standing there in their wet clothing. "You are cold--shivering--and I am keeping you in these wet things!" cried Grantley, gathering her in his arms and mounting the stairs. "You are drenched, my sweet child. It was wrong to go out in a storm like this. Indeed, indeed it was, dear one." She made no answer, but was seized with a cold shivering fit in his arms. He carried her into the little sitting-room, and, seating her in an easy chair, took off her hood and cloak, speaking soft, tender words as he removed the garments, and smoothed her hair with a caressing movement of the hand. "You must change your dress, Elizabeth," he said. "Do it at once. I have some dry clothes in my room, I suppose, which I shall put on." "Yes," she returned, hurriedly; "go--go at once. You are glad to get home, are you not--glad to see me, Grantley?" There was a tone of almost piteous entreaty in her voice; she was so disturbed by the shock of his sudden presence that her nerves could not recover their firmness at once.