the Englishman's automobile before her door.

"The opportunity—my opportunity has come." These words rang ceaselessly in her ears and filled her being with a strange endeavor to avenge herself on the man who could not supply her with all the luxuries she craved for, and according to her ethics, was entitled to.

VII.

It was on Christmas eve, her husband had come home with a radiant face. His short story had been accepted, and the money was in his pocket. Now he could buy a fitting present for his wife. Of course it could not be too expensive, but she certainly would enjoy it all the same; he was sure of that, feeling that the opening of a successful career was inaugurated.

On his way home he had also bought a little fir tree to set up for the first Christmas celebration in his own home. The recollections of similar holidays in the house of his parents stirred him to the depths. How his heart quivered when he thought of his dear mother he loved so dearly. If she only were alive how different everything would be! He, who was brought up in luxury, mother's pet, and now—

With deep emotion he entered the house. With a brisk step he opened the door, looked around and found it empty, the wife and all her belongings gone!

The horror of that night was something he could never forget as long as he lived. Holding his ten months' old child in his trembling arms, he wept burning tears for her, the mother of his child. Could it be possible? A mother deserting her child on this holiest of evenings? He could not believe his eyes, but all she possessed went with her. No, no, she was giddy-headed, but not cruel. Motherhood must assert itself and surely would. How he loved her, how he longed to take her in his arms and feed his poor, famished heart with a touch of her lips!

He sat there in the dark listening and waiting for her to come back, to see the presents he had bought for her, and the money he wanted to give her. But one hour after another passed and nobody came. In the streets a joyous throng of merry makers pushed and jostled about wishing each other a merry Christmas. His heart was shaken to its depths by maddening grief; by bitter disappointment.

The room was icy cold, there was no fire in the stove, and the child half starved, screamed weakly in his arms. In wild desperation he trampled on the little Christmas tree he had brought along to celebrate his first Christmas in his own home! He could see nothing but falsehood and treachery in this world. What meaning was there for him in this life-redeeming symbol?

Sick of everything he longed for death to come and take him and his little child away. Throughout that dreary night of agony he lay in bed holding the child in his arms, pressing his lips against her tender little hands, without being able to close an eye.

The bell in the neighboring churches rang out in the ears of the deserted man, sounding dismally through his lonely house. But they brought back pictures to his mind of his childhood's happy days, when he went to church on similar Christmas eves with his parents. One tear after another stole into his desperate eyes.

"God have mercy on me and my child," he murmured stammeringly. "I must, I will live for her sake. I cannot leave her altogether an orphan," though the gaping wound in his own heart kept on bleeding, bleeding incessantly.

VIII.

"There! Here we are at last, no weather for a dog to be out," growled the angry coachman sulkily, jumping down from the box and opening the carriage door with a respectful bow, hat in hand.

Mr. Ogden staggered quickly out and lifted tenderly and carefully a woman's form to the wet ground. Young Burge, the deserted husband, had just come down with the help of the coachman who growled something he could not understand.

He looked at the woman in the darkness and a mist swam before his eyes; he leaned against the coach and his knees shook so that he could not make a single step. The night was black and the wind sobbed down the street, while the rain still fell in torrents.

He could not see clearly—but that voice—that voice! God! "Could they have been right—these wicked, malicious gnomes? Did they know all about her and now, how?" he asked himself while his hands clutched the book convulsively in his helpless agony.

He thought he heard them again whispering, with a derisive chuckle, the whole story of her downfall into his terrified ears.

"How could she ever come to such magnificent clothes?" he thought. "Nonsense! It is simply a hallucination of a morbid, disordered brain. I am sick and miserable and see things where there is nothing to see." This he murmured half aloud to himself, gazing at the retreating form of the woman incredulously. He could not distinguish her features and he made up his mind forcibly, in order to quiet down his excited nerves, that it was nothing else but a foolish trick of his imagination, and the fever which shook him now again was the obvious cause of it all. "Anyway, how could she have obtained all this luxurious outfit? His wife wealthy? Nonsense!"

He tried to laugh cheerfully about this foolishness, but suddenly he felt as though a knife were plunged into his heart. "The gnomes! the gnomes! If that which they had said were true!" He moaned to himself, leaning against the wall in a faint condition. "Oh, anything but that ... anything but that!" His whole frame shook as from palsy. That voice haunted him. He knew he had to go and look at her in order to convince himself, otherwise he could not find any rest.

IX.

"Come, come! You must not lose your courage, my good fellow," said Mr. Ogden good-naturedly, coming out of the house at the same time. "But before you do anything else, you should go inside and get those wet clothes off; yes, that you must do, my man, you look pale enough indeed, and...."

"The deuce! If that is not our expected entertainer, the humorous lecturer from Ishle!" cried the stout, dignified hotelier, with a laugh as he caught sight of the dripping form of the poor, dazed lecturer.

"Lord, what a state he is in! Why he isn't able to lecture!"

"Never mind, a hot grog, some dry clothes from my wardrobe, and the rest will soon be managed," said Mr. Ogden good-naturedly with a sign to his valet, greatly gratified in being able to help the poor, miserable looking man with the pallor of death on his emaciated face.

"And as for your entertainment being a great success, well—leave that to me, my dear fellow and don't worry; it will be all right," he went on, clapping the dazed humorist on the shoulder with an encouraging smile.

He bowed, without being able to utter a word of thanks; he bit his trembling lips and followed the valet with stumbling, shivering feet.

"Who could this benevolent stranger be? And what was he to that woman? Was he mistaken or not? If, after all she should be his—his—"

A hot wave flushed his face, distorted with shame as he thought of the possibility; his sorely tried heart was hammering mightily within him.

He could not get rid of this thought. "If she should really be the mother of his poor child ... what, in the name of Heaven, was she then to this man? God have mercy on me and come to my aid!" he cried aloud, in great misery, his teeth once more chattering