had been
sodden, and the scent had washed away. He had followed the hounds for
miles to no purpose and had galloped home at last in sheer disgust. To
add to his grievances he had called upon Lady Emberdale on his way back,
and had not found her in. "Gone to tea with her precious Admiral, I
suppose!" he had growled, as he rode away, which, as it chanced, was the
case. The suspicion had not improved his mood, and he was very much out
of humour when he finally reached his own domain. Striding into the
library, he turned on the threshold to curse his servant for not having
lighted the lamp, and the man hastened forward nervously to repair the
omission. This accomplished, he as hastily retired, glancing furtively
over his shoulder as he made his escape.

Coningsby tramped to the hearth, and stood there, beating his leg
irritably with his riding-whip. There was a heavy frown on his face. He
did not once raise his eyes to the picture above him. He was still
thinking of Lady Emberdale and the Admiral. Finally, with a sudden idea
of refreshing himself, he wheeled towards the table. The next instant,
he stood and stared as if transfixed.

A woman dressed in black, and thickly veiled, was standing facing him
under the lamp.

He gazed at her speechlessly for a second or two, then passed his hand
across his eyes.

"Great heavens!" he said slowly, at last.

She made a quick movement of the hands that was like a gesture of
shrinking.

"You don't know me?" she asked, in a voice so low as to be barely
audible.

For a moment there flashed into his face the curious, listening look
that is seen on the faces of the blind. Then violently he strode
forward.

"I should know that voice in ten thousand!" he cried, his words sharp
and quivering. "Take off your veil, woman! Show me your face!"

The hunger in his eyes was terrible to see. He looked like a dying man
reaching out impotent hands for some priceless elixir of life.

"Your face!" he gasped again hoarsely, brokenly. "Show me your face!"

Mutely she obeyed him, removed hat and veil with fingers that never
faltered, and turned her sad, calm face towards him. For seconds longer
he stared at her, stared devouringly, fiercely, with the eyes of a
madman. Then, suddenly, with a great cry, he stumbled forward, flinging
himself upon his knees at the table, with his face hidden on his arms.

"Oh, I know you! I know you!" he sobbed. "You've tortured me like this
before. You've made