His whole face flushed with rapture.

"I have something to say to you. You are never at home when I call.

Norine, I implore you! let me see you alone--once."

Over her face there came a sudden change--her lips set, her eyes gleamed. What it meant he could not tell. He interpreted it to suit his hopes.

"I will see you," she said, slowly. "When will you come?"

"A thousand thanks. This evening if I may."

She bent her head and turned from him.

"Whom the gods wish to destroy they first make mad," she thought. "I know as well as you do, Mr. Thorndyke, what you are coming to say to-night, and--I shall not be the only listener."

He leaned in a sort of ecstasy against his own work. At last! she would see him--she would hear how he had repented, how he worshipped her, how the only hope that life held for him, was the one hope of winning back her love. Of Helen he never thought--never once. It seemed so easy a thing to put her away. Incompatibility of temper--anything would do. And she had the pride of Lucifer. She would never lift a finger to retard the divorce.

CHAPTER XX.

NORINE'S REVENGE.

My dear Mrs. Thorndyke;--Will you come and spend the evening with me?

Fetch the little people. I shall be quite alone.

"JANE LISTON-DARCY."

It was not the first time such notes had come to the tenement house--not the first time they had been accepted. Laurence was always away. The late hours had begun again. The evenings at home were so dreary. It was a glimpse of the old glad life, before poverty and hard work had ground her down. Yes, she would go.

Mrs. Darcy, very simply, but very prettily dressed, welcomed her. Baby Nellie she took in her arms and kissed fondly, but little Laurie, with his father's bold, blue eyes and trick of face, she shrank from. The father she could face unmoved; the old pain actually came back when she looked at the child.

As they sat, a pretty group in the gas-light, a card was brought in.

Mrs. Darcy put the baby off her lap and passed the card to Helen.

"Your husband," she said. "He begged for this interview, and--I have granted it. But I wished you to be present. Whether I do right or wrong, you shall hear what he has to say to me. You love and trust him still.

You shall hear how worthy he is of it. But first--have you ever heard the name of Norine Bourdon?"

"Norine Bourdon! the girl whom Laurence--"

"Betrayed by a false marriage--for whom he was disinherited. I am she."

"You!" Helen Thorndyke recoiled.

"It was Norine Bourdon, not Jane Liston, Mr. Darcy adopted. Have you not then the right to hear what your husband has to say to me? But it shall be as you wish."

"I wish to hear," Helen answered, almost fiercely. "I _will_ hear."

Norine threw open a door.

"Wait in this room. I will leave the door ajar. My maid shall take the children. And be sure of this--neither by word nor look shall I tempt your husband to say one word more than he has come to say to-night."

Helen Thorndyke passed into the inner room. Norine Darcy rang for the servant waiting without.

"Show Mr. Thorndyke up."

He came, bounding lightly and eagerly up the stairs, and entered. She arose from her seat to meet him. In full evening dress, his face slightly flushed, his blue eyes all alight with eagerness, he had never perhaps, in the days when she had adored him, looked so handsome as now.

She smiled a little to herself as she recalled that infatuation; how long ago it seemed. And for this good-looking, well-dressed, heartless libertine, she had gone near to the gates of death.

"Norine!"

He clasped the small hand, shining with diamonds, that she extended, in both his, his tone, his eyes speaking volumes.

"Good-evening, Mr. Thorndyke. Will you be seated? Quite chilly for September, is it not, to-night?"

She sank gracefully back into her easy-chair, the gas-light streaming over her dusk, Canadian loveliness. She made an effort to disengage her hand, which he still held fast, but he refused to let it go.

"No, Norine! let me keep it. Oh, love, remember it was once all mine.

Norine! Norine! on my knees I implore your forgiveness for the past!"

He actually sank on one knee before her, covering the hand he held with passionate kisses. No acting here; that was plain, at least. The infatuated man meant every word he said.

"Forgive me, Norine! I know that I have sinned to you beyond all pardon, but if you knew how I have suffered, how the memory of my crime has made my whole life miserable, how, to drown the torture of memory, I fled to the wine-cup and the gambling-table, and to--"

"Marriage with Miss Helen Holmes, heiress and belle. Oh, I know it all, Mr. Thorndyke. Pray get up. Gentlemen never go on their knees nowadays except in melodrama. Get up Mr. Thorndyke; let go my hand and sit down like a rational being. I insist upon it."

"A rational being!" he repeated. "I have ceased to be that since your return. It is my madness, Norine, to love you as I never loved any women before in my life."

She laughed, toying with the fan she held.

"My dear Mr. Thorndyke, I remember perfectly well what an absolute fool I was in the days of our acquaintanceship four years ago. Even such a statement as that might have been swallowed whole. But it _is_ four years ago, and--you will pardon me--I know what brilliant talent Laurence Thorndyke has for graceful fiction. To how many ladies in the course of his thirty years of life has he made that ardent declaration, I wonder?"

"You do not believe me?"

"I do not."

"Norine, I swear--"

"Hush-h-h! pray don't perjure yourself. Was it to tell me this you came here this evening, Mr. Thorndyke?"

"To tell you, Norine, what I am sure you do not know. What I never knew myself until of late, that you and you alone have ever been my wife; that our marriage _was_ a marriage, legal and true--that you, not Helen, are my lawful wife. To tell you this and much more, if you will listen.

From my soul I have repented of the past; how bitterly, none may know. I left you--great Heaven! I sit and wonder at my own madness now; and all the time I loved you as I never loved any one else. I married Helen Holmes--yes, I cannot deny it, but what was I to do? I was bound to her, she loved me, 'my honor rooted in dishonor stood,' and I married her.

There is horrible fatality in these things. While I knelt before the altar pledging myself to her, my whole heart was back with you. I will own it--despise me more than you do already, if that be possible--I married her for her wedding dower, and because I dared not offend Mr.

Darcy. Wealth so won could bring little happiness. I fled from home and her presence to drown remorse and the memory of my lost love in drink.

So poverty came. I was reckless. Whether you lived or died I did not know, I dared not ask--in abandoning you I had spoiled my whole life.

Then suddenly you reappeared, beautiful as a dream, so far off, so cold, so unapproachable--you my love! my love! once my very own. You held me at arm's-length--you refused to listen to a word, and all the time my heart was on fire within me. To-night I have come to speak at last.

Norine, I have sinned, I have suffered, I have repented. What more can I say? I love you madly, I always loved you. Say you forgive me, or I will never rise from your feet!"