"You say this, knowing that I am dissatisfied, Lance," said Lady Marion.

"I say it, hoping that you intend to obey me," he replied.

Without another word, and in perfect silence, Lady Chandos quitted the
room, her heart beating with indignation.

"He will not explain to me," she said; "I will find out for myself."

She resolved from that moment to watch him, and to find out for herself
that which he refused to tell her. She could not bring herself to
believe that there was really anything between her husband and Madame
Vanira; he had always been so good, so devoted to herself.

But the result of her watching was bad; it showed that her husband had
other interests; much of his time was spent from home; a cloud came
between them; when she saw him leaving home she was too proud to ask him
where he was going, and if even by chance she did ask, his reply was
never a conciliatory one.

It was quite by accident she learned he went often to Highgate. In the
stables were a fine pair of grays; she liked using them better than any
other horses they had, and one morning the carriage came to the door
with a pair of chestnuts she particularly disliked.

"Where are the grays?" she asked of the coachman.

"One of them fell yesterday, my lady," said the man, touching his hat.

"Fell--where?" asked Lady Chandos.

"Coming down Highgate Hill, my lady. It is a terrible hill--so steep and
awkward," replied the man.

Then she would have thought nothing of it but for a sudden look of
warning she saw flash from the groom to the coachman, from which she
shrewdly guessed that they had been told to be silent about the visits
to Highgate. Then she remembered that Madame Vanira lived there. She
remembered how she had spoken of the hills, of the fresh air, and the
distance from town; she watched again and found out that her husband
went to Highgate nearly every day of his life, and then Lady Chandos
drew her own conclusions and very miserable ones they were.

The cloud between them deepened--deepened daily; all her loving
amiability, her gentle, caressing manner vanished; she became silent,
watchful, suspicious; no passion deteriorates the human mind or the
human heart more quickly than jealousy. If, during those watchful days,
Lord Chandos had once told his wife the plain truth, she would have
forgiven him, have taken him from the scene of his danger, and all might
have gone well; as it was, all went wrong.

One day a sense of reg