yself to believe it, knowing him as I knew him. But, at the same
time, the very idea that there was such a charge in writing disturbed
me. Your explanation, Sir, has made all clear, and has set my mind at
rest in that particular.

"And now, Sir, will you excuse me if I mention one more thing which I
would like to ask of you. It concerns me, you will see even more
closely than this writing could have concerned me. It touches me in a
more tender place. It is very strange, and, indeed, quite
inexplicable, why you, Sir, a stranger, should be interwoven with
these things which are so sacred to me; but so it is."

Obed was affected by the solemnity of her tone, and by a certain
pathos in her last words, and by something in her manner which showed
a deeper feeling by far than she had evinced before.

What Hilda now proceeded to say she had long thought over, and
prepared with great deliberation. No doubt the woman whom Lord
Chetwynde loved lived here. Most probably she was Obed Chute's young
wife, possibly his daughter; but in any case it would be to him a
terrible disclosure, if she, Lord Chetwynde's wife, came and solemnly
informed him of the intrigue that was going on. She had made up her
mind, then, to disclose this, at all hazards, trusting to
circumstances for full and complete satisfaction.

[Illustration: "'Yes,' He Cried, 'I'll Have This Cleared Up Now, Once
And Forever.'"]

"Sir," she continued, in a voice which expressed still deeper
emotion, "what I have to say is something which it pains me to say,
yet it must be said. I am Lady Chetwynde, and traveled here with Lord
Chetwynde, who is the only acquaintance I have in Florence. I hurried
from England to his sick-bed, in Switzerland, and saved his life.
Then I came here with him.

"Of late I have been suspicious of him. Some things occurred which
led me to suppose that he was paying attentions to a lady here. My
jealousy was aroused. I learned, I need not say how, that he was a
constant visitor here. I followed him to a masquerade to which he
refused to take me. I saw him with this lady, whose face I could not
see. They left you. They walked to an arbor. I listened--for, Sir,
what wife would not listen?--and I heard him make a frantic
declaration of love, and urge her to fly with him. Had I not
interrupted them at that moment they might have fled. Oh, Sir, think
of my lonely condition--think what it costs my pride to speak thus to
a stranger. Tell me, wha