he endured after that, when she saw his wife,
when she saw him in his daily life, yet knowing that he was lost to her
for evermore.

Then the climax came when his wife spoke of "Lance's little child." If
those words drove her to her death who shall wonder?

She saw the stars in the water and thought she was going to them; and
perhaps, on the Great Day, that thought, that imagination may plead for
her.

It was a mad love, a cruel, mad love.

Some instinct came to Lord Chandos when he read that letter that all was
not well. He started at once for Rashleigh.

The morning sun was high in the heavens when he reached there. Going at
once to the mill-stream, he had seen the body of the woman he loved
floating there, her long hair tangled in the water-lilies, a smile such
as comes from perfect peace on her face.

He did the wisest thing he could have done--he brought Farmer Noel to
the spot, and told him the story, while she lay with her face raised to
the morning skies--the story of a mad love.

Farmer Noel uttered no reproaches.

"I never thought she would live a happy life or die a happy death," he
said--"it was written so in her face."

They two kept the secret. In a small place like Rashleigh such an
occurrence is a nine days' wonder; every one believed that the hapless
lady had fallen into the stream as she was passing to the woods.
Although the farmer grieved sorely after her, he never told any one that
she was his niece, and no one recognized her.

There was a verdict of found drowned, and every one thought the farmer
very generous because he undertook the funeral expenses.

How Lord Chandos grieved, no words could tell--it was as though the
light of his life had disappeared; he never spoke of his sorrow, but it
made him old in his youth and killed the best part of his life in him.

No one, even ever so faintly, connected the inquest at Rashleigh with
the disappearance of Madame Vanira. The world went mad at first with
anger and disappointment, then a rumor was spread that madame had gone
to America, and had married a millionaire there.

The world recovered its good temper and laughed; then another grand
singer appeared on the scene, and Leone was forgotten. The only person
to whom Lord Chandos ever told the truth was the Countess of Lanswell,
and it shocked her so greatly that she gave up all society for a few
days, and then, as the world had done before her, forgot it.

Lord Chandos never forgot; the