“I understand you, Miss Rochester,” Dr. Winthrop quietly returned; “but your contemptible spite will never be gratified to that extent; you will never receive the decree of divorce which you attempted to secure, for all proceedings were stopped before any harm was done. A few words of explanation in a cable message were sufficient to achieve that.” The girl turned with a gesture of despair to her mother. “We are beaten, mamma—miserably beaten!” she cried with white lips, and sinking into a chair she buried her face in her hands. Dr. Winthrop led his wife quietly from the room, and closed the door upon the two wretched women. “I am sorry for them,” Salome said, with a sigh as they went slowly downstairs. “They do not deserve a particle of your sympathy,” her husband said, with rigidly compressed lips. He had been obliged to put a severe curb upon himself during the recent interview, lest in his hot indignation he should forget that he was dealing with women. “But wrong-doing brings far more misery than wrong-bearing,” the gentle girl returned. “And why should it not, dear?” Dr. Winthrop asked. “It is a double sin, for it wrongs one’s self and others also. Now, my darling, let me see no clouds on your face to-night, for I want my friends to believe that my wife is happy.” “I am, True; only——” “Only you have such a tender heart, you wish to bear the burdens of others as well as your own,” he interposed, smiling. “Now, dear,” he added, “I do not mean to be too hard upon those two sinful women, but surely they do need to be brought to a sense of their guilt. When they manifest a proper spirit, then we will do as One of old taught us—tell them to ‘go and sin no more.’” “O True! will you?” Salome said eagerly. “Then you do not mean to bring them before a jury—you will not pursue them—you will not openly disgrace them?” “No, love, if they show themselves disposed to do what is right.” Salome’s brow cleared at this assurance, and she exerted herself to appear her brightest for her husband’s sake. He led her directly to their hostess, and after introducing her to the members of the family, he left her with Mr. Tillinghast, while he went to seek his mother. He did not care to have her shocked in the presence of witnesses, but he wanted her to learn that night that he had found his wife; he wanted her to realize also, how she had been plotting against the very woman whom she had been so anxious he should marry. He knew that she was there, for Mr. Tillinghast had told him that she was among the first to arrive, and he found her at last, conversing with a distinguished-looking elderly gentleman. Madame Winthrop started, and her face lighted with sudden joy as she caught sight of him—her favorite son. “My dear boy!” she exclaimed, as she clasped his hand; “when did you arrive?”