thud of heavy steps outside the house. Drawing back, he waited until he
heard the foot of Elise upon the stair. She came in without a light, and
at first did not see him. He heard her gasp. Stepping forward a little,
he said:

"I am here, Elise. Come."

She trembled as she came. "Oh, monsieur--your Excellency!" she
whispered; "oh, you cannot go down, for my mother sits ill by the fire.
You cannot go out that way."

He took both her hands. "No matter. Poor child, you are trembling!
Come."

He drew her towards the couch. She shrank back. "Oh no, monsieur, oh--
I die of shame!"

"There is no need, Elise," he answered gently, and he sat on the edge of
the couch, and drew her to his side. "Let us say good-night."

She grew very still, and he felt her move towards him, as she divined his
purpose, and knew that this room of hers would have no shadow in it to-
morrow, and her soul no unpardonable sin. A warm peace passed through
her veins, and she drew nearer still. She did not know that this new
ardent confidence came near to wrecking her. For Valmond had an
instant's madness, and only saved himself from the tumult in his blood by
getting to his feet, with strenuous resolution. Taking both her hands,
he kissed her on the cheeks, and said:

"Adieu, Elise. May your sorrow never be more, and my happiness never