stood still as a statue.

"Please open the door!" now sounded authoritatively.

"No," she answered loudly.

"You are laboring under some horrible mistake! Some one has been
telling you something--let me speak to you, child!"

She came a step nearer.

"I cannot," she said.

"I must entreat you to open the door. Even a criminal is heard before
he is condemned."

"No," she declared, and went to the window, where she remained.

"Confound your--obstinacy," sounded in her ears.

[Illustration: "There was a crash and a splitting of wood and the door
was burst open."]

Then a crash, a splitting of wood--the door was burst open and Frank
Linden stood on the threshold.

"Now I demand an explanation," he said angrily, the swollen veins
standing out on his white forehead, which formed a strange contrast to
his brown face.

She did not turn towards him.

"Uncle Henry will tell you what there is to tell," she replied, coldly.

He strode up to her and laid his hand on her shoulder, but she drew
back, and the blue eyes, usually so soft, looked at him so coldly and
strangely that he started back, deeply shocked.

"I have deceived you, Gertrude? you, Gertrude?" he asked, "what have I
done? What is my crime?"

"Nothing--"

"That is no answer, Gertrude."

"Oh, it is only such a trifle--I cannot talk to you about it."

"Very well! Then I will go to Uncle Henry at once."

She made no answer.

"And you wish to go away? To leave me alone?" he inquired again.

She hesitated a moment.

"Yes, yes," she then said, hastily, "away from here."

"Why do you keep up this farce, Gertrude."

"Farce?" She laughed shortly.

"Gertrude, you hurt me."

"Not more than you have hurt me."

"But, confound it, I ask you--how?" he cried in fierce anger.

She had drawn back a little and looked at him with dignity.

"Pray, order the carriage and go to Uncle Henry," she replied, coldly.

"Yes, by Heaven, you are right," he cried, quite beside himself, "you
are more than perverse!"

"I told you so before; it is my character."

"Gertrude," he began, "I am easily aroused, and nothing angers me so
much as passive opposition. It is our duty to have trust in one
another--tell me what troubles you; it _can_ be explained. I am
conscious of no wrong done to you."

"That is a matter of opinion," said she.

"Very well. I declare to you that I am not in the least curious--and I
give you time to reconsider."

He turned to go.

"Th