he did not put in an appearance, and fervently hoped they might never meet again. The old ladies spoke confidently of his going abroad before long. Lewis hoped he would. He thought that in time, if she did not see him again, Esther would live down her love for him.

But Esther was to see him again.

It was three months later.

She sat in her dainty drawing-room at Notting Hill, waiting for her husband to come home. They dined at seven. It was not yet six. She felt dull and moody. When Lewis came home, she would persuade him to take her out somewhere.

When the servant brought up Leonard Belmore's card, she thought for the moment she could not see him. Then she altered her mind. The temptation was irresistible. He came in, looking as handsome as ever. In a moment he noted the change in her. She was thin and pale. There were dark circles beneath her eyes. But ah! she could not keep down the flash of joy that burned in them; she could not govern that magic flush that covered her face, as his hand held hers! She loved him still. He knew it, and he exulted.

"I have come," he said, speaking slowly, " to wish you goodbye. I am going abroad. I may be away some years. I felt I must see you once again."

"I am glad you came," she answered, her breast heaving with her emotion. Then she added, hurriedly, as she moved a chair towards him, "You-you will stay to dinner? My husband will be home shortly; he will be pleased to see you.”

He stood looking at her a moment. All his good resolutions melted into air. He had gone there to say farewell-for ever. He never meant wilfully to see her again. He meant to live down his love-to try and forget her. But the sight of her, white, and wan, and thin, drove him mad. He only knew he loved her.

He did not take the chair she placed. He moved towards her impulsively and caught her hands. She tried to draw them away, then, with a little cry, let them rest passively in his.

"I cannot stay to see him!" he cried fiercely. "You know how I hate him because he is your husband, Esther. You are not happy. Don't tell me you are. You do not love him. You

will never love him. Oh, my darling," he continued, fixing his eyes, bright with passionate love, upon hers, as they were raised half fearfully to him. "Esther, are we both to live on and on and be miserable all our lives, because of this tie which binds you to him? I cannot crush out my love for you; I have tried, but it is in vain."

"You must crush it out, Leonard-you must crush it out." Esther's face was ashen. Her voice was faint as a whisper. "I cannot," he answered, with a sudden catching in his throat like a stifled sob. "I have never loved any woman before; I shall never love again. The very touch of your hands burns like fire in my soul. You are the one woman who could make a good man of me. Esther, if you send me from you now, I shall go down-down-down-to the dogs. I care for nothing. I seek only forgetfulness. Give me your love-yourself! Break this tie which should never have been made. Let us leave England and be happy together in another country."

"Hush!" she cried, tearing her hands from his grasp and walking away. "Hush! Leonard, you forget yourself! You must not talk like this. You are mad, mad to suggest such a thing! Would you drag me down-tempt me to leave my husband-to go abroad with you? Oh, how can you? How can you?" and she burst into tears. You know as well as I do such wickedness invariably leads to misery."

Oh, if only Lewis would come home! In the presence of this man it seemed as though all her strength was fleeing from her. She was afraid of herself.

་་

"I know nothing," returned Leonard wildly, "but that I love you, Esther, and you are not happy. You cannot look me in the face and say you are happy. You do not love your husband." "I do not," sobbed Esther. "I can never love him."

She sank upon a couch, and was crying bitterly. He went up to her. He sat down beside her and talked to her, as he so well knew how to talk, pointing out the misery of a loveless life, and dwelling on the happiness which might be theirs were their future spent together.

And at length Esther wavered, her good resolutions were broken down, and she gave Leonard Belmore her promise that secretly on the morrow she would leave her husband and go abroad with him.

It wanted only five minutes to seven when Leonard left the house. Esther wondered Lewis had not come home. A servant informed her the master had come in and gone out again shortly after, while the gentleman (Leonard Belmore) was upstairs. "But he did not come into the drawing-room?" said Esther in surprise.

"He said he was going to, ma'am." what made her mistress so agitated.

And the girl wondered

Fact, I saw him on the

landing, just going to turn the handle, myself."

Esther turned cold all over, and her heart failed her. Had he overheard what Leonard had said to her? The drawing-room was long and narrow. A screen stood round the door. Onc might easily open the door without being seen by anyone at the further end, and yet hear distinctly all that was being said. "He did not come into the room," said Esther. "I—I— wondered he was so late home. Did he say why he was going out again?"

"No, ma'am. He came downstairs all in a hurry like, and went out of the front door without saying a word. I only just caught sight of his face, but I do think now it was whiter than usual, as though he weren't very well."

"Keep dinner waiting," was all Esther could say. “I will ring when Mr. Pinero returns."

The dining-room led out of the hall. Dinner was laid. Esther entered, and dropped into the nearest chair, shutting the door behind her. She shivered from head to foot, her lips were blanched, her eyes filled with terror. She had no doubt now but that her husband knew of her love for Leonard Belmore. How much had he overheard of what passed between them? Did he know she had consented to fly with the man she loved, to leave him, to place a stain on her life which could never be washed out?

What would he say to her when he came in? spurn her from him? What else could she expect? she ever dare to crave for his respect again?

Would he How could

As she sat there thinking, thinking, with a wildly-beating heart, with every nerve strained to its utmost, listening for the familiar step in the hall outside, the sin she had contemplated suddenly stood out before her in all its hideous blackness. The glamour and romance of love was torn from it. She saw her

self degraded, despised, dishonoured-a disgrace to womanhood -one that all would point at and cry, "Shame!" She thought of her father and mother, of her happy innocent life in the old home. How this love had changed her! What a wretched, wicked woman it had made of her! Ah, never, never had it seemed possible she could fall so low as this.

She sank back in the chair, covering her face with her hands. An intense longing for her husband seized her. He could save her. He would save her. She would confess all to him. She would plead for his forgiveness. She would crush her guilty love from her heart.

Could Leonard's love compare with his? Leonard's love would seek to drag her down. Away from the fascination of his presence she could think and see clearly what terrible remorse the future would hold, if for his sake she counted her good name well lost.

She stretched out her arms, with a cry of, "Lewis! Save me! Save me! For Heaven's sake save me now-vile and unworthy though I be."

She had been leaning back, with closed eyes. Something -a curious sensation-suddenly impelled her to open them. She started up, and stood, white as marble, leaning against the table.

There, by the fire-place, stood her husband.

Had he been in the room all the while? She had been sitting close behind the door. He could not have entered without her being aware of it.

His face was averted. He was leaning against the mantelshelf with one arm, and with his head resting on his hand.

"Lewis," she said, in a tremulous whisper, "be merciful to me. I feel that you know-you heard-something of what passed just now between Leonard Belmore and me. Lewis!" she approached a little nearer, and, sinking on her knees, clasped her hands supplicatingly before him, seeking for mercy. "Lewis! Don't be too hard on me. Give me time-have patience with me, and I will crush out this love which never should have arisen. You have always been so good-too good for me--but now-now I feel I want you as I never wanted you before, I want your strength to lean upon, your love to teach me to be a better woman. I have been very wicked. I know I do

not deserve to be forgiven. But you are a good man—you have loved me so truly, you will not turn me from you now. I have been like one mad-bereft of all sense of honour. I can only turn to you. Do not scorn me. Show me how to live and retrieve the past. Be merciful."

She did not dare to raise her eyes. She knelt there, the tears dropping down her cheeks, craving for his mercy, for him to think gently of her he who had loved her so dearly.

There was no answer. The stillness made her shiver.

"Lewis!" she began again, waiting in vain for him to speak, "say you will forgive, say you will help me! You can save me from him. When I am with him, oh, I am not myself! The better feelings will go-he has so much power over me. But if you will help me, I will crush out my love for him. Lewis," and she gave a swift upward glance and rose to her feet, "I will love you yet-God helping me, I will love you."

Slowly he turned and looked at her, pointing with one hand to a wound in his temple.

She started forward, and stood there, gazing as one dumbfounded, her breath coming and going in short, quick gasps. And then, with a wild cry that echoed through the house, she staggered, caught blindly at the table, staggered again and fell backwards senseless.

For the face on which she had looked was that of a dead man!

Lewis Pinero had shot himself in his office.

The pistol dropped from his nerveless hand as the clock struck seven. There are only two people in the world who know what led him to take his life. Only two who ever read that sad, heart-broken letter found in the secret drawer of his desk addressed to his wife.

And of those two one has recently married a wealthy New York heiress. And the other is a pale-faced widow, who spends her life among the poor and needy, and is trying, ever in vain, to forget how, for her sake-because he had heard her say she did not love him, and because she regarded him as a stumbling-block in the path of her happiness-Lewis Pinero died.

And she knows now that with him love was stronger than death.