"And did you send the exquisite flowers and fruit?" he asked. "Ah, I see that you did. I am so glad--so very glad that I was mistaken! I sincerely ask your pardon for my unjust thoughts." "It is I who should ask pardon, and for a long time I have earnestly wished that I might find opportunity to do so. My conduct has been simply monstrous, but of late it has seemed worse than the reality. Everything has been against me. If you only knew--but--" (and her head bowed lower). Then she added, hastily, "My maid has been false, and I must have appeared more heartless than ever." But, with biter shame and sorrow, she remembered who must have been the inspirer of the treachery, and, though she never spoke of it again, she feared that Dennis suspected it also. It was one of those painful things that must be buried, even as the grave closes over the frail, perishing body. Let those who are tempted to a wicked, dishonorable deed remember that, even after they are gone, the knowledge of it may come to those who loved them, like an incurable wound. Dennis's resolution not to speak till Christine should be no longer dependent on him was fast melting away, as he learned that she had not been so callous and forgetful as she had seemed. But before he could add another word, a wild, sweet, mournful voice was heard singing: "O fiery storm, wilt never cease? Thy burning hail falls on my heart; Bury me deep, that I in peace May rest where death no more can part." In awed, startled tones they both exclaimed, "SUSIE WINTHROP!" CHAPTER XLVIII DOCTOR ARTEN STRUCK BY LIGHTNING Hastening down into the body of the church, Dennis and Christine found Mrs. Leonard lying on some cushions in a pew. She was scantily clad, her sweet face scorched and blackened, and her beautiful hair almost crisped away. Her husband was bending over her in an agony of mingled grief and joy. She had just been brought in from wandering aimlessly and alone quite out upon the prairie, singing in a low, plaintive way to herself words suggested by the sudden disaster that had temporarily robbed her of husband, of reason, and almost of life. Dennis afterward learned from Professor Leonard that when first aroused they had escaped from the hotel, but, not realizing the danger, he had stepped back a moment at her request to get something she valued very much, and they had become separated. "And thus at last I find the poor child," he cried, with a look of agony. Mrs. Leonard did not know any of them, but continued her low, plaintive singing.