It was a fearful passion that moved him. One moment of intense hatred and anger toward one whom he imagined had wrecked his life. The next full of tenderness and sorrow for the one loved and lost sweetness of his existence. It was a long pent-up agony flowing afresh over his soul, a wound long since healed and scarred over now torn rudely open, and pouring forth his inmost heart’s blood. He tore his hair, he beat his breast, as he strode wildly back and forth, until at last, utterly overcome, he sank back exhausted upon a chair. Several moments passed, when with a mighty effort he conquered his emotion in a measure, and rising, he went to his secretary, took out some papers, and sitting down, commenced writing. He soon finished, folded the paper, and then went back to the arbor, where the children, having forgotten all unpleasantness, were chatting merrily. They became silent as he approached, and looked uneasy; but he entered with a pleasant smile, told them to rise and take hold of each other’s right hand, and going hastily through the marriage service, he soon pronounced them man and wife. His own face paled as he looked into those so earnestly raised to his, and his heart half sank within him as the thought of what he had done rushed over him. But he quickly cast it from him, and giving the folded paper to Dora, he told her, with a sinister smile, that she must never part with it, but treasure it sacredly, or she could not prove that she was Robert’s wife. She took it, with a feeling half of awe, half of shame, and thrust it quickly within the depths of her pocket. How could that bold, bad man stand up so calmly and perform such a mockery in the sight of Heaven? How could he so deliberately plan to blight and crush two innocent hearts and lives—two babes, as it were, who had never had a thought or wish of evil for any of God’s creatures? He little knew or realized to what extent his threat would be carried. Perhaps, could he have looked into the future, even he would have shrunk from the depth of woe to which his curses consigned them. After he had performed this diabolical act, he instantly became the most agreeable of hosts, taking them all over his grounds, showing them the statuary, and explaining the different subjects to them; afterward giving them a sail upon the miniature lake in the daintiest of dainty boats. He then invited them into the grand old house, where, after looking a half-hour or so at some magnificent paintings, he ushered them into a pleasant little room, where they found a tempting little treat of strawberries and cream and cake. They made merry here for a while, and then, as their buggy was ordered to the door, they bade their host a pleasant good-by, thanking him for his kindness to them; took their seats, and drove merrily away. Squire Moulton watched them until they disappeared from view; then, raising one clenched hand, he shook it threateningly, and hissed through his shut teeth: