bel Sloane, and
connected the Doctor with the tragedy. She hurried to his office and
heaped upon him vituperation and reproach, such as only could emanate
from a heart capable of the deepest jealousy. He met the storm
unflinchingly, and turned it away from himself by reminding her that
he would probably be tried for murder, and that thus she would be rid
of him. At once she changed her threats to entreaties. She begged him
to fly with her. Her wealth would suffice, and in some other clime
they could be safe, and she would forget, forgive, and love him.

He appeared to yield, and bade her be ready to come to him at his
bidding. She returned home, only to write him a long urgent letter,
containing money; the letter to which the Doctor had alluded during
the conversation overheard by young Barnes. Then she had been summoned
and had gone to him. And now? Now the longer she thought, the more
certain did it appear to her, as the hours went by, that her lover was
dead. And such a death! She shuddered and closed her eyes. But she
could not shut out the vision of her beloved Doctor standing bravely,
with folded arms, as the flames crept upon him, surrounded him, and
destroyed him. She could not shut out the sound of a last despairing
cry wrung from his unwilling lips, as with a final upflaring of the
flame, the whole structure fell in.

Maddened by her thoughts, at length she started up and turned towards
her basin, intending to lave her fevered brow, when with a cry she
sprang back, for there, in her room, with arms folded as in her
vision, stood what she could but suppose to be the wraith of the dead.
She shrieked, and fell forward in a swoon, to be caught in the arms of
Dr. Medjora, who had admitted himself, unknown to the sleeping
servants, by a latch key furnished to him by her, when she had begged
him to join her in flight.

When she recovered consciousness and realized that this was no spectre
which had intruded upon her, she lavished upon him a wealth of kisses
and caresses, which should have assured him of the intensity of her
love and joy. She laughed and cried alternately, petted him and patted
his cheeks, kissed him upon the hands, upon his face, his hair, his
lips. She threw her arms around him and pressed him to her palpitating
heart, the while crying:

"Alive! Thank heaven! Alive! Alive!"

"And did you think me dead, Cara mia?" He folded his arms about her,
touched by the evident genuineness of her feelings,