how you promised, by all that was sacred, to make me your wife if I would do your bidding? What I am you have made me--what this child is, you are responsible for. Ah, Emil Correlli, you have much to answer for, and the day will yet come when you will bitterly repent these irreparable wrongs--"

"Come, come Giulia! you are getting beside yourself with your tragic airs," her companion here interposed, in a would-be soothing tone.

"There is no use working yourself up into a pa.s.sion and running on like this. What has been done is done, and cannot be changed, so you had best make the most of what is left you. As I said before, I will give you a handsome allowance, and, if you will keep me posted regarding your whereabouts, I will make you and the boy a little visit now and then."

The girl regarded him with flashing eyes and sullen brow.

"You will live to repent," she remarked, as she gathered the child up in her arms and arose to leave the room, "and before this day is ended your punishment shall begin; you shall never know one moment of happiness with the girl whom you have dared to put in my place."

"Bah! all this is idle chatter, Giulia," said Emil Correlli, contemptuously; nevertheless, he paled visibly, and a cold chill ran over him, for somehow her words impressed him as a prophecy.

"What! are you going in such a temper as that?" he added, as she turned toward the door. "Well, when you get over it, let me hear from you occasionally."

"Never fear; you will hear from me oftener than you will like," she flashed out at him, with a look that made him cringe, as she laid her hand upon the k.n.o.b of the door.

"Stay, Giulia! Aren't you going to let me have a word with Ino? Here, you black-eyed little rascal, haven't you anything to say to your daddy?" he added, in a coaxing tone to the child.

"Mamma, may I talk to papa?" queried the little one, turning a pleading glance upon his mother.

"By the way," interposed the man, before she could reply, "you must put a stop to the youngster calling me that; it might be awkward, you see, if we should happen to meet some time upon the street. I like the little chap well enough, but you must teach him to keep his mouth shut when he comes near me."

"Who taught him the name?" sharply retorted Giulia. "Who boasted how bright and clever he was the first time he uttered the English word?"

Her listener flushed hotly and frowned.

"Your tongue is very sharp, Giulia," he said. "It would be more to your advantage to be upon good terms with me."

She made no reply, but, opening the door, pa.s.sed out into the hall, he following her.

"As you will," he curtly said; then added, imperatively: "Come this way," and, leading her to the front door, he let her quietly out, glad to be rid of her before the butler or any of the other servants could learn of her presence in the house.

He watched her pa.s.s down the steps and out upon the street, then, softly closing the door, went back to the library.

He threw himself into a chair with a long-drawn sigh.

"I am afraid she means mischief," he muttered, with a frown. "I must get Edith away as soon as possible; I would not have them meet for anything. What a little vixen the girl is, curse her!"

He glanced at the clock.

It was five minutes of three, and twenty-fire since he went up to Edith's room.

"It is about time she came down," he mused, with a shrug of impatience.

He arose and paced the room for a few moments, then pa.s.sed out into the hall and listened.

The house was very still; he could not detect a sound anywhere.

He went slowly upstairs, walked up and down the hall once or twice, then rapped again upon Edith's door.

There was no response from within.

He knocked again.

Still silence!

He tried the door.

It was not locked; it yielded to his touch, and he pushed it open.

A quick glance around showed him that no one was there, and with a great heart-throb of fear he boldly entered.

Everything was exactly as he had left it when, the day before, he had so carefully arranged the room for the girl's comfort and pleasure.

The beautiful dresses hung over the foot-board of the bed--not even a fold had been disturbed--while the elegant sealskin cloak and the dainty hat and m.u.f.f lay exactly as he had placed them, to display them to the best advantage.

The veins swelled out hard and full on his forehead--a gleam of baffled rage leaped into his eyes.

He sprang to the closet, throwing wide the door.

It was empty.

"She may have gone to the toilet-room," he muttered, grasping at this straw of hope.

He dashed across the hall and rapped upon the door.

But he met with no response.

He entered. The place was empty.

Back into the south chamber he sprang again, and began to search for Edith's hats and wraps.

Not an article of her clothing was visible.

He tried to open her trunk.

Of course it was locked.

He was now white as death, and actually shaking with anger.

He went to the dressing-case and mechanically opened the upper drawer.

All the costly treasures that he had purchased to tempt his bride lay there, exactly as he had placed them; he doubted if she had even seen them.

With a curse on his lips he went out, and looked into every other room on that floor; but it was, of course, a fruitless search.

Then he turned into the rear hall and went down the back stairs.

Ah! the door at the bottom was ajar.

Another moment he was in the lower hall, to find the area door unfastened; then he knew how his bird had flown.