Alone in his room, Grantley Mellen had sat for hours with only stern thoughts for his companions, and they grew so black and fierce that the most terrible crisis would have been less hard to endure than that suspense.

He waited silent, immovable, till the last sound in the house died away; waited still for slumber to overtake every inmate of the dwelling, that he might carry out the plan he had formed.

He was going out to the cypress tree; he would discover if his wife’s agitation, when he proposed digging about it, was in any way connected with the mystery which surrounded her. He believed that it was so, though in what manner it was impossible to divine. Perhaps there were letters hidden there some condemning evidence against her which she had found no opportunity since his return to destroy. Whatever it was, he would discover it, drag it out, and with this fresh proof of her treachery in his hands, overwhelm her with a knowledge of her guilt.

He, too, sat watching the clock, counting the strokes as the hours sounded, but to him the time appointed did not arrive quickly. It seemed as if the hands scarcely moved; in his mad impatience he thought the appointed instant never would approach.

It was a terrible vigil that he kept; the strongest man could not for many hours have endured that strain of suspense, while tortured by such fiendish whispers as moaned in his ear.

The time came at last; the moonlight streamed pale and uncertain through the casement; no sound broke the stillness, even the wind had ceased its moaning. He could go forth now without fear of discovery.

He could go forth, but to what?

His very inability to form an idea of the discoveries he might make, increased the fever of his impatience. He could wait no longer not a moment not a second.

He opened the door and crept cautiously through the gallery, down stairs into the lower hall, undid the fastenings of the outer door and passed on to the veranda.

The garden tools were some of them in a closet in the area; he went down the steps, opened the door, took out a spade and hurried towards the cypress tree.

There he was, standing under the moaning branches, his head bare, digging wildly and aimlessly about the roots, peering at every lump of earth with his insane gaze, ready to believe that he had at last come upon that nameless thing for which he sought.

And while he dug furiously into the earth, Elizabeth Mellen knelt by the window-seat watching him; and Elsie lay upon the floor, so utterly prostrated that she could only cry out to Elizabeth at intervals in her sharp, discordant voice:

“Is he there yet is he there?”

“Still there,” she answered.

“What is he doing?”

“Digging, digging! He is on the wrong side of the tree.”

Elsie gave a sigh of relief.

“No, no,” continued Elizabeth; “he stops to throw the earth back he is going farther round.”

“Has he found the place has he?”

“Not yet.”

Elsie could not even groan; her breath came in quick gasps; her hands tore madly at the carpet, but Elizabeth leaned motionless against the window-sill, watching always with that strained gaze.

“Where is he now, Bessie?”

“He has not reached it he is near! No! he is digging again he has not found the place.”

“If we could only stop him,” cried Elsie, roused to new courage. “If I opened my window and called out.”

“Too late, too late!”

“But he will find it he will find it!”

“Then God help me, I can do no more!”

Elsie sprang up with another shriek.

“You’ll tell you’ll tell! I know you will give way and Grant will murder you murder us all.”

Elizabeth caught the frantic creature in her arms, and forced her back on the couch.

“Lie still,” she said.

“Let me go, I say let me go! I want to die I won’t live after he finds you out. I’ll kill you, Elizabeth, if you don’t let me go.”

But Elizabeth held her firmly in spite of her insane struggles, crying out:

“It is nothing to you you have no cause to fear. You are mad, mad! I tell you the trouble is mine; whatever comes falls on my head; be still, Elsie.”

“You promise. Swear it swear not to bring my name in.”

“I have sworn and I will keep my oath,” returned Elizabeth. “Disgrace, infamy, death I will bear them all alone. What should I gain by dragging you down with me?”

She fell away from the girl as she spoke, but Elsie did not attempt to rise; she lay still now, exhausted by her recent violence, and reassured by Elizabeth’s promise.

Again the woman leaned against the window-sill and looked out towards the tree. Mellen was at work still, more furiously than ever, throwing up great shovelsful of earth and dashing them down with frantic haste.

“Is he there yet?” called Elsie.

“Yes, yes! How he works dig dig dig!”

She stopped suddenly: the silence raised wilder horror in Elsie’s mind.

“Has he found it?”

“Not yet. He is standing still now, he is throwing the earth back.”

“What now what now?” called Elsie, when Elizabeth paused.

“He is looking about he is puzzled. There is only that place left he will miss it. The shadows are blackest there.”

Another instant of intent watching, then a low cry.

“He is there he is there!”

“Stop him!” shrieked Elsie. “Shout to him!”

Elizabeth whispered hoarsely:

“Too late! too late!”

“Is he digging?”

“Yes; wait wait!”

She clutched the window-sill until her nails bent and broke against the woodwork.

“First on one side, then the other,” she whispered. “He doesn’t touch the right spot I know it so well night and day I have seen it ”

“Elizabeth! Elizabeth!”

She never heeded the mad cry, pressed closer and closer to the window-frame, staring out as if every energy of her nature was centred in that gaze.

“He has not found it! He stops again he throws down the spade! He is stamping on the ground. Oh! once more!”

Then another pause, and at last Elizabeth cried in the same sharp whisper:

“He is throwing the earth back he turns away!”

“Saved! saved!” shrieked Elsie.

Elizabeth watched her husband’s movements still. He stood for some moments in quiet, then walked about the tree; she could feel the baffled rage that shook him.

He turned away at last and disappeared around the corner of the house. Then Elizabeth sprang to her feet.

“Where are you going?” cried Elsie.

“Lie still don’t speak, on your life!”

She ran to the door and locked it, then threw herself down by the fire.

“He might come in and find us,” she whispered.

Elsie crept across the floor again, seeking protection at her side. There they waited, hushing their breaths, listening for the echo of his step on the stairs. It came at last, muffled and cautious, but terribly distinct to their strained senses. He half paused at the room where they were, passed on, the door of his chamber opened and shut.

“He has gone in,” said Elizabeth.

“Saved! saved!” broke again from Elsie, but there was no answering echo from the woman by her side.

For a time they sat motionless, whether moments or hours neither of them ever could have told.