Now, by chance, they were face to face, on an obscure street, almost deserted by reason of the piercing cold, and they looked at each other with mortal hate in their flashing eyes. "Where is she? Where is my Geraldine?" demanded Hawthorne, hoarsely, tightening his grip on his enemy's arm so that he vainly tried to throw it off. Standish looked at him a moment in fear and indecision then a devilish thought came to him, and he laughed aloud, mockingly. "Your Geraldine, ha! ha! Your Geraldine!" Something in his voice and laughter seemed to freeze the blood in Hawthorne's veins, but he said, in deadly wrath: "You stole her from me by a vile trick. I saw the forged note you sent to her, and I know that you have betrayed her to some terrible fate; but by the God above us, if she has suffered wrong at your hands, Standish, your vile life shall pay the forfeit!" "Bah! Hawthorne, this ranting is useless. She is alive, she is well, she is happy, and I have just come from keeping an appointment with the charming little beauty." "Liar!" "Do not bandy epithets so generously, Hawthorne. We really have no quarrel with each other--for she isn't worth it!" "Liar! Hound!" and Hawthorne looked as if he could barely restrain himself from throttling his defiant foe. But Standish kept his temper well in check, knowing that he could gain more thus than by losing it. He smiled mockingly, and said: "Those are hard words, but I think you will offer an apology for them presently. See! here is Geraldine's note to me. It is yours if you wish to keep it." He thrust a crumpled sheet of paper into Hawthorne's hand, and by the glaring electric light he read: "MR. STANDISH:--You may call at eight o'clock this evening. GERALDINE HARDING. "Dec. 29th, 1894." How the words glared up at him, for he knew the writing well, and a groan burst from his lips as he flung it from him, crying: "Where is she? I must see her! I must have an explanation!" "I cannot tell you where she is. She would not wish it. You may as well give up the game, Hawthorne, for I have won!" The triumph in his voice was hateful. Hawthorne did not speak for a moment, and his opponent continued: "Let us understand each other. We have been rivals for Geraldine Harding's love, and she has coquetted with us both, promised her hand to both. Well, all is fair in love or war. My little scheme succeeded, and she is satisfied!" "You have married her, Standish?" "How could I when I have a wife living in New York, and Geraldine knows it? But I tell you she loves me and is satisfied. We stage people are not at all prudish, you know." The next moment Hawthorne's strong fingers were about his throat. "You have lied, you miserable dastard! Geraldine is as pure as snow, and unless you take back your falsehoods I will strangle them in your throat!"