d the
congenial spirits of cunning and deceit, but not by striking a blow, and
the rebuke to Cesarine would have been so scathing she would never have
had the impudence to see him again. Not by murder did he mean to
liberate himself.

On seeing that heaven had taken the parting of the gallant and the
wanton into its hand, he had simply forbore to intervene. On the one
hand, he let Gratian's mysterious and stealthy assassins stifle him and
the other, Cesarine, run to the railroad station unhailed. The one
deserved death as the other deserved oblivion.

This woman was of the world and would be a clod when no longer
living--her essence would remain to inspirit some other evil woman--the
same malignity in a beautiful shape which appeared in Lais, Messalina,
Lucrezia Borgia, the Medici, Ninon, Lecouvreur, Iza, not links of a
chain, but the same gem, a little differently set.

But Rebecca's was an ethereal spirit eternal. Thinking of her he could
believe himself young and comely again and loving forever in another
sphere. This was the being whom he would eternally adore, whether he or
she were the first to quit the earth.

Here lay the consolation. Cesarine, like all evil, was transient;
Rebecca, like all good, everlasting.

"Let her come," said he at last, lifting his head slowly and no longer
troubled. "She need not fear. I shall bear in mind the Oriental proverb
Daniels quoted: 'Do not beat a woman, even with roses!'"

Hardly were the words formed in his mind than his wife appeared as
though by that mind reading, frequent in married couples--she had waited
for this assurance of her personal safety to be mentally formed.

In the short time given her toilet, she had performed wonders. Perhaps,
with a surprising effort of her will, she had snatched some rest, for
her eyes wore the fresh, pellucid gleam after prolonged slumber. Her
cheeks were smooth and by artifice, seemed to wear the virginal down.
Easy and graceful as ever, she affected a slight constraint, which
agreed with a pretence of avoiding his glances.

"You must be astonished to see me!" she exclaimed, for he did not say a
word of greeting.

No man could have looked less astonished, and, with the greatest
evenness of tone, he answered:

"You ought to know that nothing you do astonishes me."

"But I remember--I wrote you a long letter explaining my absence and the
necessity of my sudden departure--the despatch from my poor uncle's
secretary--I ordered