"From there."

The trembling seized her again.

"Well, but--it can't be so bad--"

"It is. Don't move! Fritz--"

"Well?"

"You--do you care for me?"

"Of course I do, old girl. Why, you know--"

Suddenly she turned round, stood up and faced him desperately.

"Do you care for me, Fritz?" she said.

There was a dead silence. It seemed to last for a long while. At length
it was broken by a woman's voice crying:

"Fritz,--Fritz--it isn't my fault! It isn't my fault!"

"Good God!" Lord Holme said slowly.

"It isn't my fault, Fritz! It isn't my fault!"

"Good God! but--the doctor didn't--Oh--wait a minute--"

A door opened and shut. He was gone. Lady Holme fell down on the sofa.
She was alone, but she kept on sobbing:

"It isn't my fault, Fritz! It isn't my fault, Fritz!"

And while she sobbed the words she knew that her life with Fritz Holme
had come to an end. The chapter was closed.

From that day she had only one desire--to hide herself. The season was
over. London was empty. She could travel. She resolved to disappear.
Fritz had stayed on in the house, but she would not see him again, and
he did not press her to. She knew why. He dreaded to look at her. She
would see no one. At first there had been streams of callers, but now
almost everybody had left town. Only Sir Donald came to the door each
day and inquired after her health. One afternoon a note was brought to
her. It was from Fritz, saying that he had been "feeling a bit chippy,"
and the doctor advised him to run over to Homburg. But he wished to know
what she meant to do. Would she go down to her father?--her mother, Lady
St. Loo, was dead, and her father was an old man--or what? Would she
come to Homburg too?

When she read those words she laughed out loud. Then she sent for the
_New York Herald_ and looked for the Homburg notes. She found Miss
Pimpernel Schley's name among the list of the newest arrivals. That
evening she wrote to her husband:

"Do not bother about me. Go to Homburg. I need rest and I want to
be alone. Perhaps I may go to some quiet place in Switzerland with
my maid. I'll let you know if I leave town. Good-bye.

"VIOLA HOLME."

At first she had put only Viola. Then she added the second word. Viola
alone suggested an intimacy which no longer existed between her and the
man she had married.

The next day Lord Holme crossed the Channel. She was left with the
servan