"He has gone, left me alone."

"Then his love was not as deep and lasting as you fancied it would be."

A burning blush came over the pale face.

"Oh, Scott, it was a great mistake."

"_But you will see for yourself that it was the one great mistake of our lives_," Scott said, repeating the sentence conveyed to him in Irene's letter.

"Then you will not give me a home?"

"Yes, as long as I have a home you may share it."

"I cannot understand you."

Scott arose, and, standing before Irene with folded arms and compressed lips, she saw him again just as she had seen him in her dream, and so vividly was its terrors recalled, that a cry escaped her lips.

"Irene Wilmer," he said, "for such you are still, listen to me. The time was when I loved you--when I laid my whole soul at your feet. It was not, perhaps, with vain and foolish words of flattery that I won you, but I gave you the free and undivided love of an honest heart.

You were fond of flattery, and in your vanity you were led to believe that another loved you better than I, and the man you should have spurned as you would the vilest of reptiles, was taken to your heart as though he were a king."

Irene closed her hands convulsively.

"You trampled upon the love I gave you, and, lured on to ruin by the wiles of a vain and hollow hearted fop, you spurned my love as though it were a worthless toy, while he, with his soft and senseless words of pretended love, caused you to cast aside that most sacred and enn.o.bling of all a woman may possess--your honor."

Irene bowed her head upon the table beside her, as she said in a low voice:

"Stop."

"No, hear me through. I tried to keep you from sinning. I did all that man could do to stop your downward course, but you answered me only with sneering words, and when I asked you to give up the attentions of a man who had no right to your affections, you called me cruel and unfeeling, and the world looked in scorn upon my misery. You had no pity, and when I knew of your disgrace, I thought I should go mad. Day by day my love for you died away. Not because I had grown tired of your presence, but because you had grown tired of mine, and without respect I could not love. Another supplanted me in your affections, but still I tried to do my duty. You were bound to me by the laws of G.o.d and man, and never, until you of your own free will severed our lives, did I for one moment entertain the thought of casting you off."

"But I have suffered so much, and I come back to you asking your forgiveness."

"That I have freely granted. My home is yours while you desire it; and every comfort that you may ask shall be yours. No wish shall be denied, but my love for you, Irene, is dead."

She threw aside her bonnet, and clasping her hands, and falling upon her knees before him, she cried out:

"Oh, Scott, is there no way that I can bury the past, and regain the love that I have lost?"

"None," he answered firmly. "No, do not touch me. It is asking a great deal, Irene, and I am only human. How can you expect me to forget the sorrows which you have caused me? You come back to me a woman wrecked in body and soul, and you ask me to give again the love that you trampled to the dust."

"Oh, I did not know how much I was throwing away."

"You have learned it, then, when it is too late, and repentance comes when there is no chance for redress. Your home is here while you wish to remain. Try and be content if you can, but let us meet as strangers. When this interview is ended there is but one word to say."

"What is that?" she asked hurriedly.

"_Farewell!_"

"I shall have to die all alone, without even your voice to go with me down to the dark grave. Oh, G.o.d, it's terrible to die."

"There is but One who can go with you to lighten the darkness of the grave, Irene; to Him you must look for comfort. I am neither good nor wise enough to teach you how to go."

"Scott, will you promise me one favor?"

"If you will be seated you may talk further; you are growing tired."

"Yes, I am tired," she said, while her cheeks burned with excitement, "and if you will grant me one favor I will leave you."

"If it is my power to do so."

"It is that when I die you will sit beside me and watch me go out of life, and that you will give me just one good bye kiss--only one."

"I will promise to try," he said.

"Good bye," she said, as she arose, trembling in every limb.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"Anywhere, out in the world, to die."

"No, you must not go away. Be seated, and I will see that you have a room prepared."

The old look was upon his face which she had seen so often--the look which compelled her to obey, without the uttering of an unkind word, or even a command, and he left her sitting where the soft glow of the gas light fell upon her white, wan features.

He sought his mother and June.

"Mother," he said, "Irene has returned."

June sprang to her feet.

"Scott," she said, "did you allow her to come in this house?"

"I did."

"You are crazy!"

"I think I have my reason," he said.

"You surely do not think of allowing her to remain?"

"Yes, as long as she lives."

In all June's life she had never shown as much indignation as then.

"Scott," she said, "if she remains I shall leave the house."

Scott did not speak.