ingly suffer anything to free my son and his fair, loving wife."

"No one spared me, nor will I in my turn spare," she said. "You shall
know what it means to plead for dear life and plead in vain."

"Can I say nothing that will induce you to listen to me?" said the
countess, "will you deliberately persist in the conduct that will ruin
three lives?"

"Yes, deliberately and willfully," said Leone. "I will never retract,
never go back, but go on to the bitter end."

"And that end means my son's disgrace," said Lady Lanswell.

"It would be the same thing if it meant his death," said Leone; "no one
withheld the hand that struck death to me--worse than death."

"You have nothing but this to say to me," said Lady Lanswell as she rose
with stately grace from her seat.

"No; if I knew anything which would punish you more, which would more
surely pay my debts, which would more fully wreak my vengeance, I would
do it. As for three lives, as for thirty, I would trample them under my
feet. I will live for my vengeance, no matter what it costs me; and,
Lady Lanswell, you ruined my life. Good-bye. The best wish I can form is
that I may never look on your face again. Permit me to say farewell."

She went out of the room leaving the countess bewildered with surprise
and dismay.

"What she says she will do," thought Lady Lanswell; "I may say good-bye
to every hope I have ever formed for my son."

She went away, her heart heavy as lead, with no hope of any kind to
cheer it.

Leone went to her room, her whole frame trembling with the strong
passion that had mastered her.

"What has come over me?" she said; "I no longer know myself. Is it love,
vengeance, or jealousy that has hold of me? What evil spirit has taken
my heart? Would I really hurt him whom I have loved all my life--would I
do him harm? Would I crush that fair wife of his who wronged me without
knowing it? Let me find out for myself if it be true."

She tried to think, but her head was in a whirl--she could not control
herself, she could not control her thoughts; the sight of Lady Lanswell
seemed to have set her heart and soul in flame--all the terrible memory
of her wrongs came over her, the fair life blighted and ruined, the
innocent girlhood and dawning womanhood all spoiled. It was too
cruel--no, she could never forgive it.

And then it seemed to her that her brain took fire and she went mad.

She saw Lord Chandos that same evening; they met in a crush on th