p the money and jewels which
Lord Maulevrier stole from my father?'

'I deny the fact that any such jewels or money ever passed into his
lordship's possession. That vile woman, your mother, whose infamy cast a
dark cloud over Lord Maulevrier's honour, may have robbed her husband,
may have emptied the public treasury. But not a rupee or a jewel
belonging to her ever came into my possession. I will not bear the
burden of her crimes. Her existence spoiled my life--banished me from
India, a widow in all but the name, and more desolate than many widows.'

'Lord Maulevrier was known to leave India carrying with him two large
chests--supposed to contain books--but actually containing treasure. A
man who was in the Governor's confidence, and who had been the
go-between in his intrigues, confessed on his death-bed that he had
assisted in removing the treasure. Now, Lady Maulevrier, since your
husband died immediately after his arrival in England, and before he
could have had any opportunity of converting or making away with the
valuables so appropriated, it stands to reason that those valuables must
have passed into your possession, and it is from your honour and good
feeling that I claim their restitution. If you deny the claim so
advanced, there remains but one course open to me, and that is to make
my wrongs public, and claim my right from the law of the land.'

'And do you suppose that any English judge or English jury would believe
so wild a story--or countenance so vile an accusation against the
defenceless?' demanded Lady Maulevrier, standing up before him, tall,
stately, with flashing eye and scornful lip, the image of proud
defiance. 'Bring forward your claim, produce your documents, your
witnesses, your death-bed confessions. I defy you to injure my dead
husband or me by your wild lies, your foul charges! Go to an English
lawyer, and see what an English law court will do for you--and your
claim. I will hear no more of either.'

She rang the bell once, twice, thrice, with passionate hand, and a
servant flew to answer that impatient summons.

'Show this gentlemen to his carriage,' she said, imperiously.

The gentleman who called himself Louis Asoph bowed, and retired without
another word.

As the door closed upon him, Lady Maulevrier stood, with clenched hands
and frowning brow, staring into vacancy. Her right arm was outstretched,
as if she would have waved the intruder away. Suddenly, a strange
numbness crept o