"You have no right to ask that!"

Archibald laughed. "Are you as happy with him as the day is long?"

She looked up for a moment, and their eyes met. "The days seem very long
sometimes," she said, almost beneath her breath.

"This day?" he demanded, bending toward her.

"Autumn days are short, you know," she said, smiling a little, with averted
face.

"Do you often ride out in autumn?"

"What else can I do, when my husband is away from home? I must go now--it
is late."

"And your promise?"

For the third time that afternoon she gave him her hand. Her color was
higher than usual, and her breathing somewhat uneven. She had not passed
unscathed through this interview. Archibald's was the stronger spirit, and
she felt his power--felt it, and liked to feel it! And he, as he held her
warm and delicate hand in his own, was conscious of a strange tumult in
his heart. Was fate, which he had hitherto found so adverse, going to
change at last, and yield him everything at once--revenge and love in the
same breath? A revenge consummated through love were sweet indeed.

They parted at length, and rode away in opposite directions. This was their