"Only yesterday; she seemed to be getting low spirited, so I advised her to visit Mrs. Harrington for a while." "I suppose she has not left you often--you two kept together?" he asked, the old jealousy creeping through his voice. "Of course; she has visited a little," replied his wife, quietly, but she turned away to the table as she spoke. A servant brought in the supper, and they sat down opposite to each other at the board; but even during those first hours of reunion the strange greeting which his return had met would linger in Grantley Mellen's suspicious mind, and, in spite of Elizabeth's cheerful manner, her color would come and go with tremulous fitfulness. Sometimes there was a restless expression in her eyes, and she seemed with difficulty to repress a nervous start at any sudden sound--she had not recovered wholly, it appeared, from her surprise. "You will send for Elsie in the morning," he said. "Oh, yes. One of the men will go to town early." "Don't tell her I have come." Elizabeth hesitated. "She would be so startled if I did not," she said. "I really think her happiness will be greater if she expects to meet you." "As you please," he returned, a little coldly. "I believe you are right. Surprises generally are failures." "Where is Dolf?" Elizabeth asked. "I sent him on with the steamer to deliver some letters I had brought for various people; he will be up in the morning. He is just the same remarkable darkey as ever. His language is even grander, I think." When they were sitting over the fire again, Mr. Mellen said: "Now, tell me everything that has happened; your letters were all so vague." "I had nothing of importance to write, you know," she answered; "we were very quiet here." "Has Elsie changed much?" he asked. "Not at all; gay and thoughtless as ever." There seemed a suppressed bitterness in her voice. Perhaps that gayety and frivolity had sometimes jarred upon the deeper chords in her own nature. "Little darling!" he said, fondly, "I feel more attached to her than ever since I went away--she seems more like my daughter than my sister." "And she loves you very dearly, you may be sure of that." "Oh, yes; nothing could ever come between Elsie and me! I have thought of the promise I made our dying mother; I have kept it, Elizabeth--wherever else I have erred, I have kept that vow." "Yes," she said; "yes." But the tone grew a little absent, her eyes wandered about the room as if she were perplexed anew by some thought far away from the subject of their conversation. "You have been happy and content here, Elizabeth?" "Not happy," she answered, "I forced myself to be patient; but the time seemed very long." "Then you do love me?" he cried, suddenly. She looked at him reproachfully, with some pain stirring under that reproach. "Can you ask me such questions now?" "No, no; you do love me. I believe it. But you know what a morbid, suspicious character mine is." "I had hoped--"