How I wish I had never left him; and now Max has gone too; left me as I left Scott."

She tried to think that Max would yet return, but she thought over all the cruel things he had said on that evening that he left her, and she could see no reason why he should stay so long if he ever intended to come back, and then the fact of his having taken the money was conclusive evidence of his remaining away. She wondered why it was that her mind turned so often toward Scott. She had very often thought of him and his kind acts since her sickness. She knew that she had no right to think of him, but the more she thought, the more she longed to see him, and to be in the home which she had deserted, and ere another week had gone by she had resolved to go to him, and perhaps in his generosity he would take her back to die at home.

"I think I am getting better, Mary," Irene said a few weeks after her interview with the doctor, "I mean to break up housekeeping and go East."

"Why, you ain't able to travel," said Mary.

"Yes, I am, I've got friends there who will not see me suffer. My father has never been to see me since Max went away, although I have sent him word at least a dozen times. I shall get enough for my household goods to take me to New York. I can hardly tell what to do, and I am too sick to live here alone."

"But if you should take cold traveling it might be your death."

"Oh, I shall die anyway, and I would rather die there than here,"

Irene said.

"Perhaps you will get well if you don't expose yourself."

"No, I won't, I shall die, and it is better to die with some one who will treat me well," she said mournfully.

"Yes, if you have friends it is better to be with them," said Mary.

After another week of anxiety Irene was ready to return to New York.

She had heard nothing from Max or her father. She saw but one way open to her, and that was to go to Scott and ask his forgiveness. She did not know that he would grant it, but she would tell him how ill she was, and perhaps he would not turn her away.

CHAPTER x.x.xII.

A BITTER ATONEMENT.

Night had fallen over the great city. The snow was falling fast, and the wind blowing with a fury that drove pedestrians on at a rapid pace. Among the many who thronged the streets was a woman ascending with slow and uneven steps the broad marble steps that led to the home of Scott Wilmer. She was closely veiled and dressed in black, and as she reached out to ring the door bell her hand shook with the cold.

The great hall door opened in answer to the clear ring of the bell, and the woman was invited to enter. How bright and warm it seemed as she stepped on the soft carpet, after her wearisome walk through the snow.

"What can I do for you?" asked the boy who stood in waiting.

He had been taught to address all strangers in a polite manner, even though they were plainly dressed.

"Is Mr. Wilmer at home?" the woman asked in a faint voice.

"He is; do you wish to see him?"

"Yes, please tell him that a lady would like to see him alone."

"Some one in trouble, I suppose," thought Scott, as the boy went to him with the message. "Bring the woman in," he said.

"You may see him," the boy said, "come this way, madam." Then the door closed after her, and she stood trembling in Scott's presence. He placed an easy-chair, and she sank wearily on its cushions.

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Yes, there is a great deal if you will," she said as she raised her veil.

She was trembling in every limb, and her lips had grown so stiff and white that she could scarcely speak, but she gasped at last after a mighty effort:

"Scott, don't you know me?"

"Great G.o.d, Irene, is it you?"

"Yes, may I come home again?"

"Home! Irene, do you call this home? Your home should be with the husband of your choice--the man you love."

"Oh, Scott, don't be cruel. I have come back to ask your forgiveness."

"My forgiveness?" Scott repeated bitterly.

"Yes, I have found how n.o.ble, and how much better than other men you are."

"I am very sorry," he said, with a hard, cold expression, "that you have found the goodness of my character when it is too late to answer your purpose."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Scott! Don't you know me?"]

"Oh, Scott, my husband, do not turn me away; can you not forgive me?"

"Yes, Irene, I will try to forgive you."

"And you will?" she said, starting to arise.

"I will forgive you all the wrong you have ever done me."

"And you will take me home again?"

"Yes."

"Oh, Scott, I wish I had known how good you were."

"I am very sorry for you."

"And, Scott, will you love me again?"

"Never."

"Can't you take me back? Don't you see how I have suffered?"

"Sin brings its own punishment, and your sin has brought you yours. I cannot undo the past, neither can you. I said I would forgive you, and I will."

"What is your forgiveness without your love? Don't you see that I never would have come back to you if I had not been forced to do so."

"I suppose you would not; but let me ask you what you have done with the man you loved--your affinity?"