met his eyes, with the light of the lamp
falling full on it, was confirmation stronger
than words that the servant had not
exaggerated the state of matters.

"Frost!" he said, and held out his hand.

The other did not take it. "So you
have heard!" he said, hoarsely.

"Only this instant! I was more overwhelmed
—more amazed than I can say.
I—I had some hope that the man—your
servant—had misstated in some way. But
I fear—My dear Frost, I feel for you
if ever one man felt for another. I do,
upon my soul."

"Why did you come here then?" asked
Mr. Frost, in the same hoarse voice.

"I came—no matter now for the business
that brought me here. I cannot harass you
with it now. But, Frost, you must not
break down in this way! For all sakes you
must take courage!"

"Break down!" echoed Frost, in precisely
the same tone and manner as before,
"no; I have not broken down."

"This," said Lovegrove, pointing to the
brandy, "is a bad comforter, and a worse
counsellor. You should take food; and
perhaps a glass of sherry when you have
eaten. God bless my soul, I—I—feel like
a man in a dreadful dream! When did it
happen? I mean when did did she—"

"She went away this afternoon. She
was gone when I came home from the
office. She took her maid, and her jewels,
and her clothes. She was very fond of her
clothes. They were the only objects that
ever touched her affections." Sidney Frost
laughed a short laugh as he said the last
words: a laugh that made the man
opposite to him shiver.

"For Heaven's sake, man, don't—don't
laugh! If that hideous sound can be
termed a laugh. Then she—Mrs. Frost—
did she go alone?"

"I tell you she was accompanied by all
that she loved in the world! But you
mean, did she elope? Did she leave me
for a lover? Did she disgrace herself?
Oh no! Not so. I would have you to
understand that Mrs. Frost is a woman of
spotless virtue—spotless, spotless virtue! She
only breaks her husband's heart; but in
nowise tarnishes his honour."

And again the horrible laugh sounded
through the room.

"Here is her letter. She left a letter.
That was very considerate, was it not?
Would you like to read it?"

Frost tossed a letter across the table to
his partner, and then, leaning his elbows
on the table, buried his face in his hands.
Mr. Lovegrove read the letter slowly and
attentively. When he had finished it, he
threw it down with an expression of
disgust and an oath rose to his lips.

*' By G—! such heartlessness is
incredible!"

Georgina Frost had left her home as her
husband had said, taking with her her
jewels and the greater part of her costly
wardrobe. She wrote that her life had
long been intolerable to her; that her
husband was either a ruined man, or was
growing rapidly to a pitch of parsimony
which threatened to become a monomania.

In the first case he would be relieved by
her absence; in the second, she must
decline to make herself a victim to his avarice
and his temper. She was going to her
mother and her widowed sister, who
resided abroad. They would willingly
receive her. Her mother's property would
eventually be hers, and she had no scruple
in accepting a home with her parent. If
brighter days should come, they might
meet again. But Sidney must be aware
that his conduct and temper during the
past three months had been such as to
alienate her affection to a great extent.
Indeed, there were moments when she had
feared personal violence. He would scarcely
be surprised—if indeed he were at all
surprised—at the step she had taken. And
she remained his affectionate and unhappy
wife.

"Frost," said Mr. Lovegrove, laying his
hand on the forsaken husband's arm, "you
said something about a broken heart. You
are not going to break your heart for a
woman who could write such a letter as
that!"

Mr. Frost looked up at him with a ghastly
face. His features writhed and worked
convulsively, but no tears fell from his hot
eyes.

"What is the use of your talking?" he
gasped out. "You did not love her. She
was not your wife, your life, your idol.
All these years that she lay in my bosom I
loved her more and more day by day. I
had not a thought, or a hope, or a wish that
did not tend to her pleasure, and comfort,
and happiness. I knew she did not love
me as I loved her. How could she? How
could any woman have the strength to love
as I loved her? But I thought she had
some gleam of kindness for me some
human pity! Not break my heart! It is
broken, and crushed, and dead. The light
has gone out of my life."