ejaculated, and he strode up the marble steps. Grasping the bell, he
resolved to enter. But something held back his hand, and another
voice said--"Wait! Wait! A single error now were fatal."

Slowly he descended, his ear bent to the windows, listening--slowly,
still listening, he moved onwards again; his whole being convulsed
in a stronger conflict of passion than he had ever known--reason at
fault and perception blindfold.

A full half hour had elapsed, when Dexter reappeared. He was in a
calmer frame of mind. Reason was less at fault, and perception
clearer. His purpose was to go in now, confront Jessie and Mr.
Hendrickson, and act from that point onward as the nature of the
case might suggest. He glanced at the parlor windows. There was no
light there now. The visitor had departed. He felt relieved, yet
disappointed.

"Is Miss Loring at home?" he asked of the servant.

"Yes, sir." And he entered. The lights, which were burning low in
the parlors, were raised, and Dexter sat down and awaited the
appearance of Jessie.

How should he meet her? With the warmth of a lover, or the distance
of a mere acquaintance? Would it be wise to speak of his interview
with Mrs. Denison, or let that subject pass untouched by even the
remotest allusion? Mr. Dexter was still in debate, when he heard
some one descending the stairs. Steps were in the passage near the
door. He arose, and stood expectant.