regarding her
interment before leaving the house that stormy night, and they had been
well obeyed. A veil of delicate gauze covered the face, softening it
into singular loveliness. Mellen did not lift this veil, which
neutralised the coldness of death so beautifully, but his breast heaved
with a farewell sigh, while tears blinded his last look, which carried
deep and eternal forgiveness with it.

A noise in the next room disturbed him. He turned hastily, and went down
stairs, shrinking from observation.

Scarcely had Mellen disappeared when the door which connected the death
chamber with a small inner room was pushed open, and a pale, wild face
looked in. It was that of North; after a quick survey of the room, he
darted towards the door leading to the stairs and shot the bolt. Then he
went up to the coffin, flung back the gauze from that marble face, and
looked down upon it. Those black eyes burned too hotly for tears, but
the raven beard trembled about his mouth, his hand was clenched, the
burning consciousness of a great crime was upon him, and he felt it in
every nerve and pulse of his system. If North had ever loved this woman,
all the force of that passion came back upon his soul now in an agony of
remorse. As he gazed, his hand released its iron grip, his strong limbs
shook like reeds, and flinging himself down by the coffin he cursed
himself, his crime, and that living woman for whose sake it had been
committed.

They were coming upstairs. He heard the heavy blundering footsteps of
two men, and knew what they were after. Creeping softly to the door he
drew the bolt back with intense caution, and stealing into the little
chamber, fell upon the floor and held his breath, listening.

He heard the coffin-lid closed; the slow turning of the screws; a sudden
jar, and then the footsteps again, broken and disturbed by the mournful
burden those two men carried. Then all was still for a moment, and up
through the passage, vibrating like electricity through that evil soul,
came the sound of a clear, solemn voice, reading the burial service.

Still he listened, with his head lifted from the floor, and supporting
himself by one arm like a worn-out gladiator. A sort of terror had
seized upon him with the sweet low sound of that voice. Great drops
gathered upon his forehead and grew cold there. He was like an evil
spirit looking through the gates of Paradise. Then came another pause,
followed by the slow roll of wheels and