Vivian Deane looked down at the cowering girl at her feet. It seemed to her then that her triumph was complete. She could scarcely keep back the cry of exultation that rose to her lips.

"How shall I leave the house without being seen?" whispered Ida, piteously.

"Leave that to me," murmured Vivian. "I am very sorry for you, Ida, and I will do all I can to aid you in this, your hour of greatest sorrow."

[178]

"You are, indeed, a true friend to me," sobbed Ida. "I shall never, never forget your kindness."

Vivian looked a trifle uncomfortable at these words of unmerited praise. She dared not remain longer with Ida, for she knew that two or three partners would be looking for her.

"Stay here for at least fifteen minutes," she said, eagerly, "and by that time I will join you, and tell you what plans I have made for you."

Ida could not think for herself, her brain was so benumbed. She could only nod in silence.

Scarcely five minutes had elapsed since Vivian had quitted the boudoir, until Eugene Mallard again knocked for admittance at the door.

There was no answer. He turned the knob, entered, and found his young wife lying senseless upon the carpet. For the second time, Ida had given away to the awful agony that consumed her. Among those at the fête was a young doctor. Eugene summoned him hastily.

"Dear me, this is quite serious!" exclaimed the doctor, as he bent over the prostrate form which Eugene had borne to a couch. "Your wife has brain fever. It is a serious case, I fear."

The garden-party broke up quite suddenly. The news that Mrs. Mallard had been taken ill was rumored among the revelers, and silently but quickly the guests took their departure, all save Vivian Deane.

She went up to Eugene, and laid a hand on his arm.

"Let me remain and nurse my dear friend Ida," she pleaded. "Do not refuse, I beg of you!"

"Let it be as the doctor says," answered Eugene.

But the physician shook his head decisively.

"This is a case requiring the most competent nurses. I am sorry to refuse you, Miss Deane, but in this instance I must do so."

Vivian controlled the anger that leaped into her heart.

"You certainly mean well," added the doctor, "but in such a case as this even her nearest relatives are not to be allowed in the sick-room."

Vivian was obliged to swallow her chagrin as best[179] she could. If she had been allowed her way, the young wife who had come between her love and herself would never rise from her bed.

"When she is convalescing I will visit her," she said to herself.

As she had no excuse to remain longer in the house, she was obliged to take her departure along with the other guests.

When Eugene Mallard had hurried to his room, after bidding Ida to remain there until his return, it was his intention to go to his room for writing materials, and returning to Ida, force from her a written confession of her love for his friend, and her intention to elope with him.

Under the circumstances, he could not very well carry his plan into execution. His rage against his hapless young wife turned to pity when he saw her lying there so helplessly before him.

During the fortnight that followed, the servants, who knew of their master's estrangement from his young wife, and how little he cared for her, were greatly surprised to find themselves banished from the sick-room, while Eugene Mallard took possession of it.

The fact was, he was puzzled at her raving. Sometimes, when taking the place of the trained nurse for an hour, he was troubled beyond expression to hear her go over again and again the scene that had taken place by the brook.

In her delirium, Ida vehemently repulsed Arthur Hollis, demanding of him how it was that he dared speak a word of love to her, the wife of another.

Then the scene would change, and she would fancy herself once more in her own room, falling on her knees and crying out to Heaven that she could not bear her husband's coldness.

Often would Eugene listen in............