Should he put the gorgeous glass in now--it was time. But a glass
window could not prevent the punishment--since it had already fallen
upon him, nor even alleviate the suffering.

He was staring straight in front of him at the picture of Mary, Queen of
Scots', landing--it had been painted at about 1850, when romantic
subjects of that sort were in vogue, and "the fellow in the blue
doublet" was said, by the artist, to represent the celebrated Arranstoun
of that time. The one who had killed a Moreton and stolen his wife. No
doubt that is why his grandfather had bought it. He thought it looked
very well over the secret door, and then he deliberately let himself
picture how it had once fallen forward, and all the circumstances which
had followed in consequence. He reconstructed every word he could
remember of his and Sabine's conversation that afternoon. He repictured
her innocent baby face--and from there on to the night of the wedding.
He reviewed all his emotions in the chapel, and the strange exaltation
which was upon him then--and the mad fire which awoke in his blood with
his first kiss or of her fresh young lips when the vows were said. Every
minute incident was burned into his memory until the cutting of the
cake--after that it seemed to be a chaos of wild passion, and moments of
extraordinary bliss. He suddenly could almost see her little head there
unresisting on his breast, all tears and terror at last hushed to rest
by his fond caresses--and then he started from his seat--the memory was
too terribly sweet.

He had, of course, been the most frightful brute. Nothing could alter or
redeem that fact; but when sleep came to them at length he had believed
that he had made her forgive him, and that he could teach her to love
him and have no regrets. Then the agony to wake and find her gone!

What made her go after all? How had she slipped from his arms without
awakening him? If he had only heard her when she was stealing from the
room, he could have reasoned with her, and even have again caught her
and kissed her into obedience--but he had slept on.

He remembered all his emotions--rage at her daring to cross his will to
begin with, and then the deep wound to his self-love. That is what had
made him write the hard letter which forever put an end to their
reunion.

"What a paltry, miserable, arrogant wretch I was then," he thought--"and
how pitifully uncontrolled."

But all was now too late.

The next morning'