“Poor child, poor child!” he muttered. “It is her only chance of forgetfulness. It would be better almost if she never wakened.” “Mark Cramer, will you tell me what has happened?” cried Alice, who had followed him in and now stood holding Robbie’s hand, her eyes dilated and expectant. Mark hesitated, but finally said through closed teeth: “That paper is a copy of a bill of divorcement from Nellie.” “A divorce? I don’t understand!” Alice caught her breath. “Yes, that knave of a Wylie has divorced this poor girl! God only knows for what or why he has done so. But, by the eternal powers, I’ll know why! That man shall answer to me for this!” Mark’s eyes blazed. “Hush, Mark! You are excited and know not what you are saying. There must be some mistake. It is probably only a joke. He has written Elinor every day, kind, affectionate letters, and I think he was to have come to-day, may be here in a few hours. He is only playing a practical joke upon her.” “If so, he shall pay dearly for his joke!” Mark exclaimed. “Ah, my poor little sister! My poor Elinor!” “Don’t, Mark! Think of Robbie hearing you! There is surely some mistake.” “It’s a mistake he shall rue,” he groaned. But Mark’s anger gave way to fear as hour after hour went by and Elinor only awoke from one swoon to go into another. Mark paced the floor, distracted with anxiety. “Poor Nellie, I dread the hour when she shall finally awaken. Heaven is merciful to her in thus keeping her unconscious,” he repeated again and again. “What can have made the change in Horace Wylie? I should have supposed him too proud a man to have entered a divorce court, even if their life had been unpleasant. And I have always believed them to be congenial and happy. Surely my poor little sister loved him.” “I am afraid, Mark, there is another woman in the case,” Alice said with conviction. “Depend upon it, no man could do such a cold-blooded, cruel act as this unless his affections were enchained by some other charmer who has usurped his wife’s place in his heart.” “Hush! she hears you,” Mark whispered, as a faint moan came from the couch and he saw the blue eyes slowly unclosed to be fixed with painful directness upon him. “What is it, dear; can I do anything for you?” he asked, going to her and stroking her curl-fringed forehead with his hand. “Where is Tibby,” she murmured. “Sure enough, where is Tibby? Alice, is it not time for Tibby to be home? Where did she go?” “She went over to Nathan’s this morning, and has not yet returned. Shall I go after her?” Elinor shook her head and looked with stony, unseeing, fixed eyes at the farthest corner of the ceiling. How pinched and drawn the white face looked, that had bloomed so rosily a few hours before. A moan again escaped her white lips. Alice sighed in sympathy. “Don’t, Nellie! Think of Robbie. Poor Robbie, he wants to speak to you.” “Mamma, I love you,” Robbie said, softly patting her cheek with his little brown palm. “What makes you sick, mamma?”