Fitzpiers stumbled and all but fell. Stretching down his hand to

ascertain the obstruction, it came in contact with a confused mass of

silken drapery and iron-work that conveyed absolutely no explanatory

idea to his mind at all. It was but the work of a moment to strike a

match; and then he saw a sight which congealed his blood.

The man-trap was thrown; and between its jaws was part of a woman's

clothing--a patterned silk skirt--gripped with such violence that the

iron teeth had passed through it, skewering its tissue in a score of

places. He immediately recognized the skirt as that of one of his

wife's gowns--the gown that she had worn when she met him on the very

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last occasion.

Fitzpiers had often studied the effect of these instruments when

examining the collection at Hintock House, and the conception instantly

flashed through him that Grace had been caught, taken out mangled by

some chance passer, and carried home, some of her clothes being left

behind in the difficulty of getting her free. The shock of this

conviction, striking into the very current of high hope, was so great

that he cried out like one in corporal agony, and in his misery bowed

himself down to the ground.

Of all the degrees and qualities of punishment that Fitzpiers had

undergone since his sins against Grace first began, not any even

approximated in intensity to this.

"Oh, my own--my darling! Oh, cruel Heaven--it is too much, this!" he

cried, writhing and rocking himself over the sorry accessaries of her

he deplored.

The voice of his distress was sufficiently loud to be audible to any

one who might have been there to hear it; and one there was. Right and

left of the narrow pass between the oaks were dense bushes; and now

from behind these a female figure glided, whose appearance even in the

gloom was, though graceful in outline, noticeably strange.

She was in white up to the waist, and figured above. She was, in

short, Grace, his wife, lacking the portion of her dress which the gin

retained.

"Don't be grieved about me--don't, dear Edgar!" she exclaimed, rushing

up and bending over him. "I am not hurt a bit! I was coming on to find

you after I had released myself, but I heard footsteps; and I hid away,

because I was without some of my clothing, and I did not know who the

person might be."

Fitzpiers had sprung to his feet, and his next act was no less

unpremeditated by him than it was irresistible by her, and would have

been so by any woman not of Amazonian strength. He clasped his arms

completely round, pressed her to his breast, and kissed her

passionately.




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