When Beecher returned, Mrs. Bloodgood was on her feet again, passing from spot to spot ceaselessly, one hand clutching a handkerchief to press back the sobs that shook her from time to time, the other stretched out in front of her, beating a mechanical time to the one phrase which she repeated again and again: "I’ve done it—I’ve done it—I’ve done it!" Mrs. Kildair, leaning by the piano, knowing that each period must have its expression, awaited the right moment. Beecher, at a sign from her, slipped quietly into a chair. "Yes, it’s I—it’s I—I!" said the indistinguishable voice. "You have done nothing," said Mrs. Kildair solemnly. "It is fate." "No, no. Only I am to blame," she answered, stopping short, each word coming slowly through the torrents of tears. Mrs. Kildair passed quietly to her side. "You are not to blame, dear," she said; "don’t think that." "Oh, you don’t know," she said, suddenly acquiring a terrible calm that froze the young man. "At what time did he—did it happen?" "At two." "I knew it! Ten minutes before, he telephoned me; he said—oh, what do I know?—said a thousand things but the one in his mind. Asked me if I still was resolved to go." "But then, Elise—" "You don’t understand! It was I who insisted on his going—I—I! I told him, if he would not go, I would come openly to his house—I would not be separated from him. Oh, my God! I didn’t know—I didn’t!" She abandoned herself to her transports once more, flinging herself on her knees and praying, as an uncomprehending child prays: "O God, don’t let it be true—please don’t let it be so!" Beecher covered his eyes suddenly with his hands. Mrs. Kildair allowed her for a moment to tire herself in supplication and anguish. Then she went to her, grasping her shoulder. "Elise." Mrs. Bloodgood stopped, rose, and went to the window, where she stood swaying. "I’m going to him," she said, pressing her knuckles against her temples. "Get hold of yourself," said Mrs. Kildair, avoiding the error of opposition. For a long moment neither spoke, while Mrs. Bloodgood, passing to and fro, struggled to fight down the sobs that were choking her. At last she stopped, facing Mrs. Kildair. "I am going to him," she said. The other woman, with a look of great compassion, shook her head in a slow negation, looking full at her. "But he said I could!" she cried, stretching out her hands toward Beecher. "You can’t." "But he said so—he promised." "No; it is impossible." "I _will_ go!" "There are twenty reporters waiting for just that," Said Mrs. Kildair. Then, raising her voice, she said impressively: "Elise, there is something you must do—something ten times more terrible." "What?" "Return home—and at once." "Never!" The cry burst from her as her whole body was shaken with indignation. "Never in the world—never again!"