, a telegram of affection and
congratulation which he handed to Michelham as he came in to get the
letters--and the old man left the room. Then Tristram remembered that he
had addressed the telegram to Montfitchet, and Ethelrida would, of
course, he now recollected, be at Glastonbury House, as she was coming
up that day--so he went to the door and called out:

"Michelham, bring me back the telegram."

And the grave servant, who was collecting all the other letters from the
post-box in the hall, returned and placed beside his master on the table
a blue envelope. There were always big blue envelopes, for the sending
of telegrams, on all the writing tables at Wrayth.

Tristram hurriedly wrote out another and handed it, and the servant
finally left the room. Then he absently pulled out his original one and
glanced at it before tearing it up; and before he realized what he did
his eye caught: "To Count Mimo Sykypri"--he did not read the
address--"Immediately, to-morrow, wire me your news. Cherisette."

And ere his rage burst in a terrible oath he noticed that stamps were
enclosed. Then he threw the paper with violence into the fire!

There was not any more doubt nor speculation; a woman did not sign
herself "Cherisette"--"little darling"--except to a lover! Cherisette!
He was so mad with rage that if she had come into the room at that
moment he would have strangled her, there and then.

He forgot that it was time to dress for dinner--forgot everything but
his overmastering fury. He paced up and down the room, and then after a
while, as ever, his balance returned. The law could give him no redress
yet: she certainly had not been unfaithful to him in their brief married
life, and the law recks little of sins committed before the tie. Nothing
could come now of going to her and reproaching her--only a public
scandal and disgrace. No, he must play his part until he could consult
with Francis Markrute, learn all the truth, and then concoct some plan.
Out of all the awful ruin of his life he could at least save his name.
And after some concentrated moments of agony he mastered himself at last
sufficiently to go to his room and dress for dinner.

But Count Mimo Sykypri would get no telegram that night!

The idea that there could be any scandalous interpretations put upon any
of her actions or words never even entered Zara's brain; so innocently
unconscious was she of herself and her doings that that possible aspect
of the ca