Victor had not promised more than be felt able to perform, and when at precisely ten o’clock next day the door bell rang, he hastened to answer the summons, admitting Arthur, as he had expected.

“I called to see Miss Hastings,” said Arthur, “I start for Florida to-morrow, and would bid her good-bye.”

Showing him into the parlor, Victor sought Richard’s presence, and by a few masterly strokes of policy and well-worded arguments, obtained his consent for Arthur to see Edith just a few moments.

“It was too bad to send him away without even a good-bye, when she had esteemed him so highly as a teacher,” Richard said, unwittingly repeating Victor’s very words—­that a refusal would do her more injury than his seeing her could possibly do.  “I’ll go with him.  Where is he?” he asked, rising to his feet.

“Now, I wouldn’t if I was you.  Let him talk with her alone.  Two excite her a great deal more than one, and he may wish to say some things concerning Nina which he does not care for any one else to hear.  There is a mystery about her, you know.”

Richard did not know, but he suffered himself to be persuaded, and Victor returned to Arthur, whom be conducted in triumph to the door of Edith’s chamber.  She heard his well known step.  She knew that he was coming, and the crimson spots upon her cheeks told how much she was excited.  Arthur did not offer to caress her—­he dared not do that now—­but be knelt by her side, and burying his face in her pillow, said to her,

“I have come for your forgiveness, Edith.  I could not go without it.  Say that I am forgiven, and it will not be so hard to bid you farewell forever.”

Edith meant to be very cold, but her voice was choked as she replied,

“I can forgive you, Arthur, but to forget is harder far.  And still even that might be possible were I the only one whom you have wronged; but Nina—­how could you prove so faithless to your marriage vow?”

“Edith,” and Arthur spoke almost sternly.  “You would not have me live with Nina as she is now.”

“No, no,” she moaned, “not as she is now, but years ago.  Why didn’t you acknowledge her as your wife, making the best of your misfortune.  People would have pitied you so much, and I—­oh, Arthur, the world would not then have been so dark, so dreary for me.  Why did you deceive me, Arthur?  It makes my heart ache so hard.”

“Oh, Edith, Edith, you drive me mad,” and Arthur took in his the hand which all the time had unconsciously been creeping toward him.  “I was a boy, a mere boy, and Nina was a little girl.  We thought it would be romantic, and were greatly influenced by Nina’s room-mate, who planned the whole affair.  I told you once how Nina wept, pleading with her father to let her stay in Geneva, but I have not told you that she begged of me to tell him all, while I unhesitatingly refused.  I knew expulsion from College would surely be the result,