he reapers went home, the
cries of the sailors were stilled, the birds were silent and still. She
sat there trying to realize that for her that letter had blotted the sun
from the heavens and the light from her life; trying to understand that
her brave, handsome, gallant young love was false to her, that he was
going to marry another while she lived.

It was too horrible. She was his wife before God. They had only been
parted for a short time by a legal quibble. How could he marry any one
else?

She would not believe it. It was a falsehood that the proud mother had
invented to part her from him. She would not believe it unless she heard
it from others. She knew Mr. Sewell's private address; he would know if
it were true; she would go and ask him.

Mr. Sewell was accustomed to tragedies, but even he felt in some degree
daunted when that young girl with her colorless face and flashing eyes
stood before him. She held out a letter.

"Will you read this?" she said, abruptly. "I received it to-day from
Lucia, Countess of Lanswell, and I refuse to believe it."

He took the letter from her hands and read it, then looked at the still
white face before him.

"Is it true?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied, "perfectly true."

"Will you tell me who it is that is going to marry my husband?" she
asked.

"If you mean will I tell you whom Lord Chandos is to marry, I am sorry
to say my answer must be 'No.' I am not commissioned to do so. You may
see it for yourself in the newspapers."

"Then it is true," she said slowly; "there is no jest, no doubt, no
mistake about it?"

"No, none. And as you have shown me your letter," said Mr. Sewell, "I
may as well show you the one I have received, and you may see for
yourself what Lady Lanswell's intentions about you are. Take a chair,"
added the lawyer, "I did not notice that you were standing all this
time; you took me by surprise. Pray be seated."

She took the chair which he had placed for her, and read the letter
through. She laid it down on the table, her face calm, white, the fire
in her eyes giving place to utter scorn.

"I thank you," she said. "The letter written you is cruel and unjust as
the one written to me. I decline the thousand per annum now and for all
time. My husband loved me and would have been quite true to me, but that
his mother has intrigued to make him false. I refuse her help, her
assistance in any way; but I will have my revenge. If I had money and
influenc