His voice rang through the house; Elizabeth, in her room, shivering with excitement, wondering what they were saying, those two--heard the jar of furious sound, and crept, trembling, halfway down-stairs. "I take my own," he repeated, "and I will make her happy; she belongs in my arms, if, my God! we die the next day!" "Oh," said Helena Richie, suddenly sobbing, "what _am_ I to do? what am I to do?" As she spoke Elizabeth entered. David's start of dismay, his quick protest, "Go back, dear; don't, don't get into this!" was dominated by his mother's cry of relief; she rose from her chair and ran to Elizabeth, holding out entreating hands. "You will not let him be so mad, Elizabeth? You will not let him be so bad?" "Mother, for Heaven's sake, stop!" David implored her; "this is awful!" "He is not bad," Elizabeth said, in a low voice, passing those outstretched hands without a look. All her old antagonism to an untempted nature seemed to leap into her face. "I heard you talking, and I came down. I could not let you reproach David." "Haven't I the right to reproach him?--to save him from dishonoring himself as well as you?" "You must not use that word!" Elizabeth cried out, trembling all over. "David is not dishonorable." "Not dishonorable! Do you say there is nothing dishonorable in taking the wife of another man?" "Elizabeth," David said, quietly, putting his arm around her, "my mother is very excited. We are not going to talk any more to-night. Do go up-stairs, dear." His one thought was to get her out of the room; it had been dreadful enough to struggle with his mother alone--power and passion and youth, against terror and weakness. But to struggle in Elizabeth's presence would be shocking. Not, he assured himself, that he had the slightest misgiving as to the effect upon her of the arguments to which he had been obliged to listen, but. . . "Do leave us, dearest," he said, in a low voice; the misgiving which he denied had driven the color out of his face. His mother raised her hand with abrupt command: "No, Elizabeth must hear what I have to say." She heard it unmoved; the entreaty not to wound her uncle's love, and hurt Nannie's pride, and betray old Miss White's trust, did not touch her. All she said was, "I am sorry; but I can't help it. David wants me." Then Helena Richie turned again to her son. "How do you mean to support your mistress, David? Of course the scandal will end your career." Instantly Elizabeth quivered; the apprehension in her eyes made his words stumble: "There--there are other things than my profession. I am not afraid that I cannot support my _wife_."