dame Vanira, I have nothing to repent
of," said my lady.

Leone's dark eyes flashed fire.

"I am but one," she said, "your cruelty made two people miserable. What
of your son? Have you made him so happy that you can come here and boast
of what you have done?"

My lady's head fell on her breast. Ah, no, Heaven knew her son was not a
happy man.

"Leone," she said, in a low, hurried voice, "it is of my son I wish to
speak to you. It is for my son's sake I am here--it is because I believe
you to be his true friend and a noble woman that I am here, Leone--it is
the first time I have called you by your name--I humble myself to
you--will you listen to me?"

CHAPTER LVIII.

"BEHOLD MY REVENGE!"

Even as she spoke the words Lady Lanswell's heart sunk within her. No
softening came to the beautiful face, no tenderness, no kindliness; it
seemed rather as though her last words had turned Leone to stone. She
grew pale even to her lips, she folded her hands with a hard clasp, her
beautiful figure grew more erect and dignified--the words dropped
slowly, each one seeming to cut the air as it fell.

"You call me noble, Lady Lanswell! you, who did your best to sully my
fair name; you call me your son's best friend, when you flung me aside
from him as though I had been of no more worth than the dust underneath
his feet!"

Lady Lanswell bent forward.

"Will you not forget that?" she said. "Let the past die. I will own now
that I was harsh, unjust, even cruel to you; but I repent it--I have
never said as much before--I repent it, and I _apologize_ to you! Will
you accept my apology?"

The effort was so great for a proud woman to make, that the countess
seemed almost to struggle for breath as she said the words. Leone looked
on in proud, angry scorn.

"You apologize, Lady Lanswell! You think that a few words can wash away
the most cruel wrong one woman did to another? Do you know what you
did?--you robbed me of my husband, of a man I loved as I shall love no
other; you blighted my fair name. What was I when that marriage was set
aside? You--you tortured me--you broke my heart, you slew all that was
best in me, and now all these years afterward you come to me, and think
to overwhelm me with faint, feeble words of apology. Why, if you gave me
your heart's blood, your very soul, even, it would not atone me! I had
but one life, and you have spoiled it! I had but one love, you trampled
on it with wicked, relentless feet! A