"Mrs. Purdy," he said, haughtily, "this is my wife. Look well at her, and tell me if you have ever met her before?"

The housekeeper looked searchingly at the beautiful face, whose blue eyes flashed lightning scorn upon her. In a moment it all rushed over her mind.

That face was too lovely to be lightly forgotten. She grew pale, and commenced to stammer forth incoherent apologies.

"Ah! I see that you remember me," said Mrs. Ernscliffe, curling a scornful lip.

"Madam, I--pardon me," stammered the crestfallen woman, "you were not then his wife. I thought you a stranger, a----"

"Silence!" thundered Captain Ernscliffe. "She was my wife then as she is now. There is no excuse for your infamous conduct. She might have died but for the kindness of strangers--she, my unfortunate wife, turned from her own house without shelter for her friendless head. Go, now, and never let me see you again. Even as you drove her out I will drive you!"

"No--no," exclaimed Queenie, for she saw how utterly the proud, overbearing woman was abashed. "No--no; I was very angry, but I forgive her now, for I see how she is humbled at remembrance of her fault. Let her stay, and this incident may teach her in future to be guided by the golden rule."

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

"Queenie, are you ready for your drive?" called her husband from the foot of the stairway. "The phaeton is at the door."

A bright, bewitching face peeped down at him from above--a face as sweet as a rose--with coral lips, and softly-tinted cheeks, and eyes as brightly-blue as violets.

Directly she came fluttering down the stairs, and paused, with her slender, white-gloved hand upon his arm.

"I am ready," she said. "Come, Lawrence, let us go. It is too lovely a day to remain indoors."

"Darling, how lovely you are," he cried. "Let me kiss you once before we start."

She smiled, and linked her arm fondly in his as they went down the marble steps together.

"Lawrence," she said, half-gravely, half-fondly, "I almost begin to believe in my happiness now. At first it seemed such a precious thing, and I held it by so frail a grasp that I feared I might lose you again and fall back into the terrible gulf of despair. But now months have elapsed and nothing has happened to part us, so that it seems possible for me to breathe freely and look forward to a happy future with you."

"Darling, these trembling fears of yours have always seemed strange and unnecessary to me. What could happen to part us now?" he said, as he handed her into the lovely little phaeton, with its prancing gray ponies, and sprang in beside her.

"I do not know. Nothing, I hope," she answered, with a quick little sigh, as she took the reins into her hands and touched up the spirited ponies. "Where shall we drive, Lawrence--in the park?"

"Yes, if you like," he answered, leaning back luxuriously.

It was a beautiful day in May, the air so balmy and delicious that it was a luxury to breathe it.

As they flashed along the shady drives in the park many eyes followed them admiringly, for Mrs. Ernscliffe was conceded by all to be the fairest woman in the city.

To-day she wore a wonderful dress of mingled blue and cream-color, and a hat of azure satin, with a streaming white feather set coquettishly on her waves of golden hair.

The colors suited her bright blonde beauty exquisitely.

Her dark, handsome, dignified husband thrilled with pleasure and pride as he noted the many admiring glances that followed his beautiful and dearly-beloved wife.

"I have had news from England, Queenie," he said, presently.

"From England?" she said, and her delicate cheeks grew white. "Oh, Lawrence, have they found out who murdered Sydney yet?"

"Not yet, dear, but the detective is very hopeful. He is on the villain's track."

"Who was he? What is his name?" she asked, eagerly.

"I do not know. He writes very meagerly, though hopefully. He merely says that he has found your maid, Elsie Gray, and that she has put him on the track of the murderer."

"It is not possible that Elsie Gray was concerned in the murder of my sister!" she exclaimed.

"Oh, no, she was a witness to the deed only--at least I gather that much from his letter. I think she has been pursuing him ever since. The detective says that we may expect startling developments soon."

"G.o.d grant that the cowardly criminal may soon be discovered and punished for his awful sin!" she exclaimed, shuddering.

"Queenie," he said, musingly, "have you ever thought that but for the sin of this unknown man we should never, perhaps, have been reunited in peace and happiness? To-day you might have been in the lonely convent cell, while I, perhaps, should have raved in the chains of a lunatic, for, Queenie, I was going mad with the horror of losing you again."

"I have thought of it often," she said, gravely, "and I have thought again and again that it was almost wrong to accept happiness that was bought at so fearful a price to my poor Sydney. Her death lies heavy on my heart."

"Queenie, we both did what we could to insure her happiness while she lived. I married her because one very near to her hinted to me that the poor girl was dying of a broken heart for my sake. I did not love her, but I sacrificed myself to save her, as you afterward sacrificed us both at her request. And yet those mutual bitter sacrifices of ours availed very little to secure the end she sought. I begin to believe that such terrible self-abnegations are wrong and unjustifiable, and that they never work out good to any."

"It may be true," she answered, thoughtfully, and relapsed into silence, her eyes downcast, her lips set in a half-sorrowful line, while she unconsciously checked the speed of the horses and allowed them to walk slowly along the drive.

Absorbed in thought she did not observe a handsome, fashionably-dressed man coming along the side-path toward them, airily swinging a natty little cane.

"I hope and trust, darling, that you will not allow any weak and morbid fancies regarding Sydney to sadden and depress you," continued Captain Ernscliffe. "I know she would not wish it to be so."

Queenie looked up at him gently with the words of reply just forming on her lips.

But they died unspoken, and she uttered a low cry of fear and terror commingled, while her whole form trembled violently.

She had caught sight of the man in the road who had just come abreast of the phaeton.

At that moment the man, who had been observing her for some moments, looked at her with a sardonic smile, lifted his hat, bowed deeply, and murmuring familiarly:

"Good-evening, Queenie," pa.s.sed insolently on.

Captain Ernscliffe grew ashen white. Something like an imprecation was smothered between his firmly-cut lips.

"Good Heaven, Queenie!" he exclaimed. "Is it possible that you know that man?"

She did not speak, she could not. She only stared at him speechlessly, her lips parted in terror, her breath coming and going in quick gasps like one dying.

"Do you know who and what that man is?" he reiterated, hoa.r.s.ely.

"Queenie, it is Leon Vinton, the most notorious gambler and _roue_ in the city! And he dared to speak to _you_! What did he mean by it? You surely do not know him. Tell me?"

Still she did not speak. It seemed to her that her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.

She had thought that her enemy was dead--had she not seen him lying cold and still, with his heart's blood staining the snowy earth? Yet there he walked, smiling, evil, triumphant. The horror of the sight struck her dumb.