she first recognized the note, and
remembered that in turning over the contents of the ebony box she must
have dropped it upon the floor.

"Do you still deny all knowledge of Frank's presence in town?" Richard
asked, and his voice recalled Ethelyn from the long ago back to the
present time.

He was waiting for her answer; but Ethie had none to give. Her hot,
imperious temper was in the ascendant now. She was a prisoner for the
night; her own husband was the jailer, who she felt was unjust to her,
and she would make no explanations, at least not then. He might think
what he liked or draw any inference he pleased from her silence. And so
she made him no reply, except to crush into her pocket the paper which
she should have burned on that morning when, crouching on the
hearthstone at home, she destroyed all other traces of a past which
ought never to have been. He could not make her speak, and his words of
reproach might as well have been given to the winds as to that cold,
statue-like woman, who mechanically laid aside the fanciful costume in
which she was arrayed, doing everything with a deliberation and
coolness more exasperating to Richard than open defiance would have
been. A second knock at the door, and another servant appeared, saying,
apologetically, that the note he held in his hand had been left at the
office for Mrs. Markham early in the morning, but forgotten till now.

"Give it to me, if you please. It is mine," Ethelyn said, and something
in her voice and manner kept Richard quiet while she took the offered
note and went back to the chandelier where, with a compressed lip and
burning cheek, she read the genuine note sent by Frank.

* * * * *

"Dear cousin," he wrote, "business for a Boston firm has brought me to
Camden, where they have had debt standing out. Through the influence of
Harry Clifford, who was a college chum of mine, I have an invitation to
Mrs. Miller's, where I hope to meet yourself and husband. I should call
to-day, but I know just how busy you must be with your costume, which I
suppose you wish to keep incog., even from me. I shall know you, though,
at once. See if I do not. Wishing to be remembered to the Judge, I am,
yours truly,

"FRANK VAN BUREN."

* * * * *

This is what Ethelyn read, knowing, as she read, that it would make
matters right between herself and husband--at least so far as an
appointment was concerned;