“The girl must be mad to think I could pardon her sin,” he exclaimed. “Great heavens, when I think that she belonged to John Keith when she went through that farce of a marriage with me, I go mad with rage! But for that--but for the deep treachery of that falsehood to him and to me, I believe I could have forgiven all the rest, for I am sure she loved me! But, oh, God, to think of one so young, so lovely, so apparently innocent, yet steeped to the lips in duplicity! How did she have the heart to abandon him and to deceive me as she did? I can not forgive her, even though she pleads that it was love for me that tempted her! And after all was it love? I must remember that John Keith was very poor and I was very rich. She may have deserted him for the sake of gold.” The suspicion maddened him. He flung himself down before his writing-desk, caught up the pen and wrote recklessly: “MADAME,--I neither desire nor will accept any explanation or excuse for your treachery. The reasons, alas, are all too plain. I was rich, John Keith was poor, so you threw him over for me! You see I understand it all, and nothing you can say or do can palliate your horrible treachery! I despise you, and although I have today for honor’s sake given you the shelter of my name, we shall never more be husband and wife save in name. Even in the same house I shall live apart from you, never seeing you when I can avoid it, never speaking to you unless it is forced upon me, although the world outside must never dream of our secret alienations. The money you sinned for you still shall have, but my respect and love never again! You understand that this is final. I will listen to no appeals. If you speak to me I will turn from you, if you write to me I will return your letters unread. I will not even listen to any one who speaks to me in your behalf. I hold your sin and folly as past all forgiveness. “CECIL LAURENS.” He did not even read it over, so fierce was his anger, so impatient his mood. Thrusting it hastily into an envelope he wrote upon the back her name, “Mrs. Cecil Laurens.” Taking the unsealed letter in his hand he went along the hall and tapped at the door of her room. Phebe responded to his light knock. As the door flew open he saw Molly lying on her bed with her delicate hands before her face. “This is for your mistress,” he said, thrusting the letter into the hand of the maid, and turning away hastily, but not so fast that he saw his wife spring upright, eagerly, to receive the missive. The door closed quickly on him and he went back to the parlor with a strangely heavy heart. The little group of women started guiltily at his entrance, and he knew by their looks that they had been discussing him and his troubles; but no one said a word, only Louise Barry gave him a look of silent sympathy from her golden eyes that spoke volumes.