d, instinctively, the other thrusts
itself out in a repellant gesture, as the soft voice utters, in tones
of mingled hate and fear: "_You!_"

He laughs softly. "Yes, I. I knew you would be delighted." All the
time he is gazing at her critically, apparently viewing her loveliness
with an approving eye.

And now the woman feels through her whole being but the one
instinct--hate. She has forgotten all fear, and stands before him
erect, pallid, but with eye and lip expressing the bitterness that
rages within her.

"You won't say you are glad to see me? Cruel Alice," he murmurs,
plaintively. "And after all these years, too; how many are they, my
dear?"

"No matter!" fiercely. "They have given the devil ample time to claim
his own, and yet you are upon earth!"

"Yes," serenely; "both of us."

"Both of us, then. How dare you seek me out?"

"My dear wife, I never did you so much honor. I came to this house for
another purpose, and Providence, kind Providence, has guided me to
you."

The woman seemed recalled to herself. Again the look of fear
overspread her face, and looking nervously about her, she said. "For
God's sake, hush! What you wish to say say out, but don't let your
voice go beyond these walls."

"Dear Alice, my voice never was vulgarly loud, was it? recollect, if
you please," in an injured tone.

"Well! well! what do you want with me? Percy Jordan, I warn you--I am
not the woman you wronged ten years ago."

"No; by my faith, you are a handsomer woman, and you carry yourself
like a duchess. Why didn't you do that when you were Mrs.--"

"Hush!" she cried; "you base liar, it did not take me long to find you
out, even then. Don't forget that you have lived in fear of me for ten
long years."

"Just so," serenely; "haven't they been long? But they are ended now,
my dear; my incubus is dead and--"

"But documents don't die," she interrupted; "don't forget that!"

"Not for worlds. For instance, I remember that in a certain church register
may be seen the marriage lines of Alice Ford and--ahem--myself. And
somewhere, not far away, there must be on record the statement that Mr.
Arthur, of Oakley, has wedded the incomparable Mrs. Torrance, a blonde
widow--ahem. Where did you go, my dear, when you left my bed and board so
very unceremoniously?

"'What had I done, or what hadst thou,
That through this weary world till now
I've walked with empty arms.'"

He stretched out those members tragi