Blanche Elsworth's face burned with a blush of insulted pride, and she was about to give an angry retort when her better judgment prevailed, and crushing down the anger she felt, she said in a quiet way:

"Mr. Brunswick, please do not speak so to me again."

"Why not?"

"I am here to help supply your wants, that you may regain your health, if it is G.o.d's will that you live, but I am not here to listen to any senseless flattery, and I strictly forbid a repet.i.tion of such words."

"But if I fall in love with you I can't help it, for you are a devilish handsome woman."

"I would advise you not to throw away your love," she said, coldly, "and as for me, I should prefer the love of a gentleman."

"Well, since you are so wonderfully particular, let me ask you what they call you?"

"Miss Elsworth."

"What, the auth.o.r.ess!"

"I suppose so."

"I beg your pardon, I didn't know I was falling in love with one so far above me."

"You are quite excusable, but please bear in mind that it matters not what one's name may be, every honest woman is worthy of at least common respect, which is less than you have shown me."

"Charley, you must be civil to Miss Elsworth, for she's so good, and she'll do all she can for you."

"Yes, they are all angels; at least I think so."

A week later Blanche Elsworth sat by the bedside of Charley Morris. He had suffered intense pain, during the night, and the morning found him weak and fretful. He turned his handsome head on his pillow, and looking steadily at Miss Elsworth for the s.p.a.ce of a moment, he said:

"How did you know that my name was Brunswick?"

"Because I have seen you before, and was told that your name was Brunswick."

"Well, it's devilish strange how things get out, anyway."

"Was it a secret?"

"No, but I'd like to know where you ever saw me."

"You once lived in San Francisco, and also in San Bernardino, did you not?"

"Yes, and I should have stayed there."

"You came to see Bessie, did you not?"

"Yes, but I did not have the least idea that she had gone mad. I thought I'd come and take a look at her once more. She was a little beauty, and she would be yet if it was not for those wild-looking eyes of hers. I wonder what made her crazy?"

"Max Brunswick, you feign ignorance of Bessie's trouble, but you know how you flattered her while at school, how you wrecked her young life and brought a dark cloud over one of the happiest of homes--a cloud which never can be lifted, for poor little Bessie's disgrace and her love for you has made her incurably insane, and, one day your child and hers will confront you and show you the cause of all her heartaches."

"I wish the girl had been in the asylum before she saw me and gave me that dose of lead."

"You no doubt thought her still full of confidence and as easily flattered as ever."

"Well, yes, I did think perhaps she was as lovable as ever, and to tell the truth I was a little homesick to see her and I thought perhaps she would overlook my leaving her as I did, for she did love me to distraction."

"Where have you left Irene Wilmer?"

Max started as though he would spring from his bed, but Miss Elsworth gently moved him back.

"What do you know of Irene Wilmer?" he asked.

"I know she is one of your victims, as is also Bessie Graves, and I ask you where you left her."

"I left her out west, some time ago."

"Do you know where she is now?"

"No, I can't say that I do."

"I can tell you."

"Where is she?"

"Dead," Miss Elsworth answered, in a low voice.

"Dead, Irene dead," he repeated.

"Yes, she is dead."

"Tell me, where did she die?"

"With her husband."

"Scott Wilmer?"

"Yes."

"Did he take her back to his home?"

"Yes, and cared for her during her sickness, as tenderly as though she had never disgraced him."

"Well, I must say, he has a mighty sight softer head than ever I would have had. I don't believe any woman could fool me that way."

"Why did you entice her away from her home and a man who loved her?"

"Why, if you ever saw her you must know she was a mighty pretty woman, and if she fancied me more than she did Wilmer it was no fault of mine."

Blanche turned from the man in disgust. She left the room, and walked out to breathe the fresh air. Mrs. Morris, worn out with watching at the bedside of her son, was sleeping soundly in her room upstairs. Max lay with his eyes fixed upon the wall, seemingly buried in his own reflections. A shadow darkened the doorway, and, turning his eyes, Max beheld Bessie gliding stealthily toward him. Her dusky hair hung like a midnight cloud around her sloping shoulders, and contrasted strangely with the marble whiteness of her lovely face. The wild gleam in her blue eyes had given place to a soft look of tender pity.