We must return to Ida May, dear reader, and picture to you the awful woe she experienced as she turned from Hildegarde, saying. "Let me go away out of your lives; if my life could atone for what I have done, I would give it."

She scarcely heard Eugene Mallard's words, "Where you go, I must follow, for you are my wife."

She was unaware of his presence, until fleeing down the graveled walk, she heard a step behind her, and a firm hand caught her arm. Turning, she saw the man whom she had just wedded.

She drew back in fear and trembling. He noticed her action, and despite his bitter woe he could not but feel sorry for her.

[130]

"We can not undo what has been done, my poor girl," he said. "It was a terrible mistake, but we must face it bravely."

She looked up into his face with wistful eyes.

"If you would only kill me here and now, I would be so grateful to you. No one would ever know. My life is of so little account that not one in the whole world would miss me or grieve for me, and then you could marry Hildegarde!"

He drew back shocked.

"You must not speak in that way," he said. "The life of every human being is sacred. You are entitled to your life, no matter what has happened, until God calls you. I do not blame you, my poor girl, for what has happened. I only say we must try to face the future, and to see what can be done."

Before he could realize what she was about to do, she had flung herself on her knees at his feet, and covered his hands with kisses. Her heart was full of the deepest gratitude to him. He was the only being who had ever spoken kindly to her of late.

He raised her gently.

"You should not kneel to me," he said, "it is not right."

"Yes, I will!" she cried, impulsively. "You are good—you are noble. You do not curse me for what I could not help. I want to show you how bitterly I deplore what has been done! But how are you to realize it?"

While they were speaking, a few drops of rain fell from the heavens, and Ida May, looking up, said to herself that even the angels above were weeping for her.

"Come!" he said, taking her by the hand and leading her along as though she were a little child, "you can not stand out in the rain. Come with me!"

He hailed a passing cab and placed her in it.

"Where are we going?" she asked, timidly, looking up into his troubled face.

"I do not know until I have had time to think," he[131] answered. "I have told the driver to drive about for an hour. By that time I shall have arrived at some conclusion."

The girl's dark head drooped. Great as her own sorrow was, her heart bled for the trouble which she had unintentionally caused this young man.

On and on rolled the cab. So busy was Eugene Mallard with his own troubled thoughts that he almost forgot the girl shrinking away in her corner, who was regarding him so piteously and anxiously.

Suddenly he turned to her.

"There is but one course left open to us," he said, huskily, "and that we must follow. You are my wife, and I must take you to the home that has been prepared to receive my bride."

She uttered a low cry; but before she could speak, he hastened to add:

"No advantage shall be taken of the position in which you are so strangely placed. You shall be my wife in the eyes of the world, but to me you shall be just as sacred as a sister. We will live our lives through in this way."

She bowed her head. Whatever he suggested must be wisest and best, she thought.

"Indeed, I can see no other way out of it at the present outlook," he went on, his voice trembling a little. "I will take you to a hotel near where I am stopping. To-morrow, at this time, I will come for you to take the train with me!"

A little later Ida found herself alone in the comfortable room which he had secured for her at the hotel.

It was then and not until then that the poor girl gave vent to her grief, suffering almost as deeply as did Hildegarde, as the long hours of the night passed away.

The sun was shining bright and warm when she opened her eyes the next morning. For a moment she was dazed and bewildered; then a rush of memory came to her, and she remembered all that had taken place. She sprung from her couch with a bitter sob on her lips. Some one tapped at the door. It was the chamber-maid.

[132]

"Your breakfast is to be served to you here, ma'am," she said. "The waiter is bringing it. I will take............