"I promise this, also, on my honor, Rule." "That is all I ask, and it is exacted for your own sake, dear. The fair name of a woman is so white and pure that the smallest speck can be seen upon it. And now, dear, it is nearly eleven o'clock. Will you ring for your maid and go to your room? I have letters to write--in the library--which, I think, will occupy me the whole night," he said, as he took her hand and gently raised her to her feet. At that moment a servant entered, bringing a card. Mr. Rothsay took it toward the portiere and read it by the light of the chandelier in the front room. "Show the gentleman to the library, and say that I will be with him in a few minutes," said Rothsay. "If you please, sir, the lights are out and the library locked. I did not know that it would be wanted again to-night. But I will light up, sir." "Wax candles? It would take too long. Show the gentleman into this front room," said the governor-elect. The servant went to do his bidding. Then Rothsay turned to Cora, saying: "I must see this man, dear, late as it is! I will bid you good night now. God bless you, dear." And without even a farewell kiss, Rothsay passed out. And Cora did not know that he had gone for good. She rang for her maid and retired to her room, there to pass a sleepless, anxious, remorseful night. What would be the result of her confession to her husband? She dared not to conjecture. He had been gentle, tender, most considerate, and most charitable to her weakness, never speaking of his own wrongs, never reproaching her for inconstancy. He had said, in effect, that he would come to an understanding with her later, when they both should be stronger. When would that be? To-morrow? Scarcely, for the ceremonies of the coming day must occupy every moment of his time. And what, eventually, would he do? His words, divinely compassionate as they had been, had shadowed forth a separation between them. Had he not told her that to be the wife of a husband she could not love would be a sacrifice that no woman should ever make and no man should ever accept? That she should not so offer up her life for him? What could this mean but a contemplated separation? So Cora lay sleepless and tortured by these harrassing questions. When Rule Rothsay entered the front drawing room he found there a young merchant marine captain whom he had known for many years, though not intimately. "Ah, how do you do, Ross?" he said. "How do you do, Governor? I must ask pardon for calling so late, but--" "Not at all. How can I be of use to you?" "Why, in no way whatever. Don't suppose that every one who calls to see you has an office to seek or an ax to grind. Though, I suppose, most of them have," said the visitor, as he seated himself. Rothsay dropped into a chair, and forced himself to talk to the young sailor. "Just in from a voyage, Ross?" "No; just going out, Governor."