death.

In the meantime something else had happened at the Mayfair dwelling. She
had not noticed the tall man that passed her as she crossed the lawn in
the darkness, but a moment later a dark figure paused on the terrace in
the same spot where she had stood, and his attention was arrested by the
same scene in the library. He paused but a moment before entering, but
even his firm tread was unheard on the soft carpet, as he strode up the
hall to the half-open curtains of the library. Marie's face was still
drooping, but the next instant the curtains were thrown back violently,
and they both paled at the sight of the stern, dark face in the
door-way.

"Clarence Mayfair!" he cried in a voice of stern indignation. "Clarence
Mayfair, you dare to speak words of love to that woman at your side?
You! Beth Woodburn's promised husband?"

"Arthur Grafton!" exclaimed Clarence, and Marie drew back through the
violet curtains.

A firm hand grasped Clarence by the shoulder, and, white with fear, he
stood trembling before his accuser.

"Wretch! unworthy wretch! And you claim _her_ hand! Do you know her
worth?"

"In the name of heaven, Grafton, don't alarm the house!" said Clarence,
in a terrified whisper. His lip trembled with emotion, and Arthur's dark
eyes flashed with fire. There was a shade of pitiful scorn in them, too.
After all, what a mere boy this delicate youth looked, he thought.