for I shall have no peace
until I know it."

"I will tell you," she said. "I have just been thinking about it. You
will find some papers in my writing-table--they are all for you. Read
them, dear, when----" she broke off abruptly--"by and by. You will
understand that it was for your sake I kept it secret."

He went downstairs, and in the writing-table he found Karl's letter.
Horror, indignation, and helplessness overcame him. Why had he not known
of this in time? He would have gone to every soul in the town, and told
them that they lied.

"Ay," he said, "I will tell them so yet. They have murdered
her--cowardly murdered her! Ah, God, I have spent my life and my fortune
in my endeavours to benefit them, and there's not one of them--not
one--honest enough to tell me to defend my wife's good name!"

What drove him almost to madness was that there was none he could go to
and take by the throat, exclaiming: "You have done this! You are
answerable to me for this!" Still, there was one who stood apart from
the others--Josephine. Josephine had not invented the slander; that was
not her way. But she would believe what was invented when it concerned
anyone she disliked. And how she disliked Ragni! Yes, it was Josephine
and her hypocrite of a husband who had laid his darling open to this
sort of attack. Very well! Everything else was gone--his joy of life,
his interest in science, and his love of mankind. But he still had
something to live for--vengeance!

As he was sitting one evening by the bedside of his wife the door
opened, and Karl Meek came into the room. "Is she dead?" said the boy.
Ragni heard the question. She looked up, and tried to smile. Her eyes
rested for a moment on Karl, and then remained on her husband. A moment
after she was dead.

Josephine was surprised to hear that Karl Meek was the only person whom
her brother allowed to follow the coffin of his dead wife. Did that mean
that Edward did not suspect him? Or, more likely, that he had forgiven
him? Ah, if one could be as good as that!

"God's way with sinners," said Tuft, "may seem cruel, but it is really
kind and merciful. The death of that woman will work for Edward's good:
Of course, he feels it keenly now, but he will get over it. It is a
blessing in disguise."

As soon as Tuft uttered these words he felt the sheer brutality of them.
By a strange irony of fate, his own child had fallen ill about the time
that Ragni took to her bed, and the ministe