sted herself with great
tearless sobs; yet no tears came from her burning eyes.

Was ever woman so foully, so cruelly wronged? had ever woman been so
cruelly tortured?

"I will not see him again," she cried to herself; "I cannot bear it."

Long after the stars had set, and the crimson flush of dawn stirred the
pearly tints of the sky, she lay, sobbing, with passionate tears,
feeling that she could not bear it--she must die.

It would have been well if that had frightened her, but when morning
dawned she said to herself that hers had always been a mad love, and
would be so until the end. She made one desperate resolve, one desperate
effort; she wrote to Lord Chandos, and sent the letter to his club--a
little, pathetic note, with a heart-break in every line of it--to say
that they who had been wedded lovers were foolish to think of being
friends; that it was not possible, and that she thought they had better
part; the pain was too great for her, she could not bear it.

The letter was blotted with tears, and as he read it for whom it was
written, other tears fell on it. Before two hours had passed, he was
standing before her, with outstretched hands, the ring of passion in his
voice, the fire of passion in his face.

"Leone," he said, "do you mean this--must we part?"

They forgot in that moment all the restraints by which they had
surrounded themselves; once more they were Lance and Leone, as in the
old days.

"Must we part?" he repeated, and her face paled as she raised it to his.

"I cannot bear the pain, Lance," she said, wearily. "It would be better
for us never to meet than for me to suffer as I did last evening."

He drew nearer to her.

"Did you suffer so much, Leone?" he asked, gently.

"Yes, more almost than I can bear. It is not many years since I believed
that I was your wife, and now I have to see another woman in my place.
I--I saw you kiss her--I had to go away and leave you together. No, I
cannot bear it, Lance!"

The beautiful head drooped wearily, the beautiful voice trembled and
died away in a wail that was pitiful to hear; all her beauty, her
genius, her talent--what did it avail her?

Lord Chandos had suffered much, but his pain had never been so keen as
now at this moment, when this beautiful queenly woman wailed out her
sorrow to him.

"What shall I do, Leone? I would give my life to undo what I have done;
but it is useless--I cannot. Do you mean that we must part?"

The eyes she