putting the little girl down by the
window, and approaching her husband. But there came no answer.

Whether the silence aroused her suspicions--whether any look in her
husband's face recalled that evening of terror long ago--or whether
some malicious instinct whispered the truth, can never be known. Certain
it was that the past rose up as in a mirror before Lady Hartledon's
imagination, and she connected this visitor with the former. She bent
over his shoulder to peep at the card; and her husband, startled out
of his presence of mind, tore it in two and threw the pieces into the
fire.

"Oh, very well!" she exclaimed, mortally offended. "But you cannot blind
me: it is your mysterious visitor again."

"I don't know what you mean, Maude. It is only someone on business."

"Then I will go and ask him his business," she said, moving to the door
with angry resolve.

Val was too quick for her. He placed his back against the door, and
lifted his hands in agitation. It was a great fault of his, or perhaps
a misfortune--for he could not help it--this want of self-control in
moments of emergency.

"Maude, I forbid you to interfere in this; you must not. For Heaven's
sake, sit down and remain quiet."

"I'll see your visitor, and know, at last, what this strange trouble is.
I will, Lord Hartledon."

"You must not: do you hear me?" he reiterated with deep emotion, for she
was trying to force her way out of the room. "Maude--listen--I do not
mean to be harsh, but for your own good I conjure you to be still. I
forbid you, by the obedience you promised me before God, to inquire into
or stir in this matter. It is a private affair of my own, and not yours.
Stay here until I return."

Maude drew back, as if in compliance; and Lord Hartledon, supposing
he had prevailed, quitted the room and closed the door. He was quite
mistaken. Never had her solemn vows of obedience been so utterly
despised; never had the temptation to evil been so rife in her heart.

She unlatched the door and listened. Lord Hartledon went downstairs and
into the library, just as he had done the evening before the christening.
And Lady Hartledon was certain the same man awaited him there. Ringing
the nursery-bell, she took off her slippers, unseen, and hid them under
a chair.

"Remain here with the children," was her order to the nurse who appeared,
as she shut the woman into the room.

Creeping down softly she opened the door of the room behind the librar