st now," he went on, "of being a spy. I have never
condescended to act such a part toward you, Clara. When I first married
you I trusted you with my life, my honor, and my name, and though you
have betrayed all three"--she moved restlessly as his calm gaze remained
fixed on her--"I repeat,--though you have betrayed all three,--I have
deliberately shut my eyes to the ruin of my hopes, in a loyal endeavor
to shield you from the world's calumny. Regarding the unhappiness you
have caused the Erringtons,--your own maid Louise Renaud (who has given
you notice of her intention to leave you) told me all she knew of your
share in what I may call positive cruelty, towards a happy and innocent
woman who has never injured you, and whose friend you declared yourself
to be--"

"You believe the lies of a servant?" suddenly cried Lady Winsleigh
wrathfully.

"Have not _you_ believed the lies of Sir Francis Lennox, who is less
honest than a servant?" asked her husband, his grave voice deepening
with a thrill of passion. "And haven't you reported them everywhere as
truths? But as regards your maid--I doubted her story altogether. She
assured me she knew what money you took out with you yesterday, and what
you returned with--and as the only place you visited in the morning was
the Brilliant Theatre,--after having received a telegram from Lennox,
which she saw,--it was easy for her to put two and two together,
especially as she noticed you reading the letter you had
purchased--moreover"--he paused--"she has heard certain conversations
between you and Sir Francis, notably one that took place at the
garden-party in the summer at Errington Manor. Spy? you say? your
detective has been paid by you,--fed and kept about your own person,--to
minister to your vanity and to flatter your pride--that she has turned
informer against you is not surprising. Be thankful that her information
has fallen into no more malignant hands than mine!"

Again he paused--she was still silent--but her lips trembled nervously.

"And yet I was loth to believe everything"--he resumed half sadly--"till
Errington came and showed me that letter and told me the whole story of
his misery. Even then I thought I would give you one more chance--that's
why I brought him to you and asked you the question before him. One look
at your face told me you were guilty, though you denied it. I should
have been better pleased had you confessed it! But why talk about it any
longer?--the