"Darling," she said, seating herself near the bed, "I am so sorry."

Max looked a moment at the beautiful face ere he spoke. He hardly knew whether he felt safe in the presence of a maniac or not, even though she was a frail woman.

"What for?" he asked, at length.

"I am sorry for you because you see you are going away to the spirit land. There will be, oh so many ghosts to dance about your grave, and perhaps I will come, too. I will not keep you waiting so long. I waited and waited until I grew, oh so very tired. You see I thought you would come, and I waited so long, I cried every day, and my heart was broken, yes, broken."

"Hush, Bessie."

"No, I won't hush. I came to tell you all about my beautiful little baby; she lies out under the rose tree. Some night when the storm comes on you can go and ask the ghosts to show you where she sleeps. I am not mad, just tired. Oh, you do not know how tired I get waiting for him. He said he loved me and would marry me. He said my hair and eyes were lovely, and you know I believed him."

"So they are, Bessie."

"Don't you say that again. I would never believe it if you did. All men are devils--devils."

"Then I am as good as the rest," said Max, carelessly.

"You see I had to come," said Bessie, drawing a little closer, "for they are digging your grave out there close beside the baby's, and they told me to tell you. The ghosts are all around, laughing because you are coming. They are going to put you in the grave and cover you all over with skulls, and bleeding hearts, and then, away down in the darkness, you will wait, and wait, and watch for some one to come and take you away, and who do you think will come?"

"You have talked enough," said Max.

"You don't want to know, but I will tell you. It will be Bessie, the maniac. Do you know Bessie, that you loved once? You can't get away now, for the maniac has come to take you down to the dark, cold grave, where all the souls of mad women are calling your name."

Max raised himself, and leaning his head on his elbow, his eyes grew almost as wild as though he, too, were a maniac.

"Girl," he said, "leave me; you will drive me mad, too."

"Ha, ha, ha," laughed Bessie, as she drew a sharp, glittering knife from her bosom.

Max drew back in affright.

"Darling," she shrieked, "we are going away together to find the ghosts, and we will make the air ring with the wild music that we shall make as we dance and leap over the graves that are waiting for us."

She raised the knife, and with superhuman strength held him fast, and buried it in the heart of her betrayer. As a loud curse arose to his lips, and his head fell backward, she plunged the knife into her own heart, and with a wailing cry she sank upon the breast of the man she had so fondly and so unwisely loved.

The noise awoke Mrs. Morris, who came down trembling and white with fear, and at the same moment Miss Elsworth entered the door.

"Bessie, Bessie," she said, and her clasped hands and amazed look betrayed the deep emotion she felt. "What is it, my poor girl?"

She sprang forward, and raising Bessie's head, she leaned against the bed for support, and with a voice full of agony, she said:

"Oh, G.o.d help us! Mrs. Morris, they are both dead."

"Oh, Charley, my boy! I can't look at you; ah, my beautiful boy, why did you come here to be killed in this way?"

Thus ended the lives of the betrayed and the betrayer--the beautiful, innocent, confiding Bessie, and the false, deceitful, selfish man of the world. They laid them side by side and at their heads a modest stone marked "Charles" and "Bessie," and none who had heard of the sad, sad story of wrong and revenge could look upon their graves with tearless eyes.

CHAPTER x.x.xVI.

SOLVING THE PROBLEM.

It was a lovely afternoon in midsummer. Scott Wilmer entered the cemetery and wended his way slowly toward his father's grave. As he neared the spot, with noiseless steps, he noticed a female leaning against the tall white monument that marked his father's resting place. As she raised her head he saw that there were tears on the heavy lashes, and a sorrowful look on the lovely face.

"My kind friend," she said, aloud, "what a sad time it was when you left your loved family!"

Scott neared the place where she stood, and bowing, said:

"Please pardon me, madam, I did not mean to intrude upon your grief. I came to visit my father's grave."

"I am the one to ask pardon," the lady replied, "and if you will excuse me I will not intrude further."

"Do not go," said Scott. "If my father was a friend of yours you have a right to mourn for him."

"I have heard so much of his goodness," she said, "that I could not help paying the tribute of a few tears to the memory of so n.o.ble a man. I have heard that aside from his extreme affection for his family, he was a devout Christian."

"Yes, he died the death of the righteous." Scott stooped and plucked a tiny flower from his wife's grave.

"If this one had lived as he did I should be satisfied, but G.o.d is the judge of both, and he doeth all things wisely, letting the rain fall upon the just and the unjust."

"It seems hard for one young and beautiful as your wife was, to die and leave those who loved her."

"You have seen her then?"

"Yes, I visited her several times during her illness. She was fond of reading, I observed, so I gave her a book of poems."

"Yes, my mother told me that she was fascinated with one of 'Auralia's' late works. I did not blame her, for if I ever loved in fancy, it is the auth.o.r.ess Auralia. Her style of writing is enough to captivate both the thoughtful and the careless. There is a touching pathos in them that is seldom excelled, and poor Irene forgot her sufferings in listening to their sweetness, so my mother told me."

"I am very glad," said the lady, "as I presented her with that one for friendship's sake."

"Excuse my boldness, but I would like to ask your name."

"Elsworth," she said.

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

"The same."

"And are you the lady who visited my wife, because you thought her friendless?"

"No, not because I thought her friendless, for I knew she was surrounded by those who would do all in their power to smooth her way to the grave, but at her request I held an interview with her."

"Then, of course, you never knew of our disgrace."

"I knew all."