Lady Bracondale was alone.

"What luck!" he murmured. "I wonder how she'll take it? To think that I
should have been lying low in Trouville yonder all that time while she
was living here. I've got ten louis, and a ticket for New York, but if
you are cute, Ralph Ansell," he said, addressing himself, "you won't
want to use that ticket."

He chuckled and smiled.

"The Countess of Bracondale!" he muttered. "I wonder what lie she told
the Earl? Perhaps she's changed--become unscrupulous--since we last met.
I wonder?"

And then, reaching the rocks, he walked as noiselessly as he could to
the spot where he had located that she must be.

He had made no error, for as he rounded a great limestone boulder, worn
smooth by the action of the fierce winter waves, he saw her seated in
the shadow, her sunshade cast aside, reading an English novel in
ignorance of any person being present.

It was very quiet and peaceful there, the only sound being the low
lapping of the blue, tranquil water, clear as crystal in the morning
light. She was engrossed in her book, for it was a new one by her
favourite author, while he, standing motionless, watched her and saw
that, though she had grown slightly older, she was full of girlish
charm. She was quietly but beautifully dressed--different indeed to the
black gown and print apron of those Paris days.

He saw that upon the breast of her white embroidered gown she wore a
beautiful brooch in the shape of a coronet, and on her finger a ring
with one single but very valuable pearl. He was a connoisseur of such
things. At last, after watching her for several minutes, he knit his
brows, and, putting forward his hard, determined chin, exclaimed in
English:

"Well, Jean!"

Startled, she looked up. Next second she stared at him open-mouthed.
The light died out of her face, leaving it ashen grey, and her book fell
from her hand.

"Yes, it's me--Ralph Ansell, your husband!"

"You!" she gasped, her big, frightened eyes staring at him. "I--I----The
papers said you were dead--that--that----"

"I know," he laughed. "The police think that Ralph Ansell is dead. So he
is. I am Mr. Hoggan, from California."

"Hoggan!" she echoed, looking about her in dismay.

"Yes--and you? You seem to have prospered, Jean."

She was silent. What could she say?

Through her mind rushed a flood of confused memories. Sight of his
familiar face filled her with fear. The haunting past came back to her
in all its evil