ut from the bitterness of his heart, but a cold little
hand was placed restrainingly on his.

"When I go ... if I go," she murmured, "I shall do so with my
husband.... You see, my friend, do you not, that there is naught else to
say but 'good-bye'?"

"And you will be happy, Sue?" he asked.

"I hope so!" she sighed wistfully.

"You will always remember, will you not, my dear lady, that wherever you
may be, there is always someone in remote Thanet, who is ready at any
time to give his life for you?"

"Yes! I will remember," she said simply.

"And you must promise me," he insisted, "promise me now, Sue, that if
... which Heaven forbid ... you are in any trouble or sorrow, and I can
do aught for you, that you will let me know and send for me ... and I
will come."

"Yes, Richard, I promise.... Good-bye."

And she was gone. The mist, the gloom hid her completely from view. He
waited by the little bridge, for the night was still and he would have
heard if she called.

He heard her light footsteps on the gravel, then on the flagged walk.
Anon came the sound of the opening and shutting of a door. After that,
silence: the silence of a winter's night, when not a breath of wind
stirs the dead branches of the trees, when woodland and field and park
are wrapped in the shroud of the mist.

Richard Lambert turned back towards the village.

Sue--married to another man--had passed out of his life forever.

CHAPTER XXX

ALL BECAUSE OF THE TINDER-BOX

How oft it is in life that Fate, leading a traveler in easy gradients
upwards along a road of triumph, suddenly assumes a madcap mood and with
wanton hand throws a tiny obstacle in his way; an obstacle at times
infinitesimal, scarce visible on that way towards success, yet powerful
enough to trip the unwary traveler and bring him down to earth with
sudden and woeful vigor.

With Sir Marmaduke so far everything had prospered according to his
wish. He had inveigled the heiress into a marriage which bound her to
his will, yet left him personally free; she had placed her fortune
unreservedly and unconditionally in his hands, and had, so far as he
knew, not even suspected the treachery practiced upon her by her
guardian.

Not a soul had pierced his disguise, and the identity of Prince Amede
d'Orleans was unknown even to his girl-wife.

With the disappearance of that mysterious personage, Sir Marmaduke
having realized Lady Sue's fortune, could resume life as an indepe