After he had walked back and forth across the office for a few moments, he returned to the safe, and taking therefrom all the valuable papers, he placed them in neat piles on his desk, and then proceeded methodically and coolly to look them over. Some of them he returned to the safe and a few of them he destroyed. Others he made up into a neat package and placed them in the drawer of his desk, evidently with the intention of taking them with him in case he had to go. It was broad daylight now, and the workmen were busy around the mill. Calling one of them to him, Elwell left him in charge of the office, while he went over to the boarding house for a cup of coffee. He returned greatly refreshed and encouraged, and resumed his work in the office as coolly as possible. He expected some word from Coleman, and grew a little anxious as the time passed without bringing it. “But it is early yet,” he thought; “there is plenty of time.” He was just thinking thus, when there came a sound of light footsteps outside, and in a moment more Norine stood before him. He had armed himself to meet anything, but he had not expected this, and he could only stand speechless and stare at her. “They told me I could find you here,” she said simply; “and I wanted to see you.” Advancing a step into the office, with her hands in front of her, and her great brown eyes searching his very soul, she cried: “Tell me what this means, Clinton! How do you come alive after all these years?” She was so beautiful as she stood there that he was like one in a dream, only that he was thinking again of what he had lost. “Why don’t you speak to me?” cried Norine. “Is it I who am your wife, or that other woman?” “You--you!” he cried hoarsely. “That is,” he said, catching himself suddenly, “you were my wife.” “If I ever was your wife, why am I not now?” demanded Norine, with all the fire of her womanly indignation flaming on her face. “You were until I obtained a divorce,” he said sullenly. “A divorce? Are we divorced?” And in spite of herself the joy of it flashed over her face. “You are not sorry, I see,” he said with a sneer. The momentary look of joy on her face cut him like a knife. “Sorry?” cried Norine scornfully; and then she continued quietly: “Why should I be sorry? I have refused the love of an honest, noble man because I would not slight your memory, and I thought it wrong in me that I could not help loving him in return. And now,” she went on simply, “I come here and find you--what you are. Why should I be sorry?” “You are right enough, I suppose,” he answered sullenly. “But if you are not sorry, I am.” “You sorry!” was all she said; but, oh, the look of scornful unbelief that accompanied the words! He could not answer that look; he could only wince under it. “Do you wish to see the divorce?” he asked in that same sullen tone; and he threw it on the desk in front of her. Norine hesitated a moment, and looked wistfully at the paper.