"Promise never to see or hear from her."
"Not that; it is too wicked—too horrible."
"Elsie," he cried, in stern passion, "promise, or I will go out of this room, and though we live together it shall be as strangers."
He rose as if to fulfil his threat; she sprang up in bed; her cowardice, her selfishness mastered every other feeling.
"I promise. Come back, Grant, come back; oh, do!"
He seated himself again, soothed and caressed her.
"We will not talk any more," he said, kindly. "Henceforth let everything connected with this subject be dead between us; that woman's name must never be mentioned here; her very memory must be swept out of the dwelling she has dishonored. You and I will bury the past, Elsie, and place a heavy stone over the tomb; will you remember that, child?"
"Yes, yes; anything! Do what you please; I cannot struggle any longer; it is not my fault."
"Indeed no, darling! You are tender and forgiving as an angel! Oh, Elsie, in all the world yours is the only true heart I have found."
She lay there and allowed him to speak those words; she suffered terribly in her shallow, cowardly way, but she could not force her soul to be courageous even then. In time her volatile nature might turn determinedly from the dark tragedy. She probably would convince herself that she was powerless; that, since it could do no good to grieve over Elizabeth and her mournful fate, it was better that she should dismiss all recollection of it from her mind, drown her regrets, enjoy such pleasures as presented themselves, and build up a new world between her and the past.