The arch plotter as she read, was quick to observe this omission, and she gloated over it; it would materially help to further her designs in the future she thought, if this letter was a sample of all others which he had written her. She would have given a great deal to be able to have that pretty writing-desk at her command for an hour or two.

Her face took on a sterner and graver look than she had ever yet worn as she read on, and when at length she finished the epistle, she appeared the horrified prude to perfection.



Chapter XV.

The Lawful Wife.



"Have you a picture of your—of Sir William, madam?" Mrs. Farnum inquired, as she folded the letter and returned it to the envelope.

Virgie arose without a word, and taking a velvet album from the table, opened it to certain picture and laid it before her companion.

Mrs. Farnum uttered a cry of despair as her glance fell upon the handsome, upturned face.

"Yes, that is a picture of Sir William Heath, of Heathdale; there can be no mistake," she confessed, with a perfectly rigid face. "But, Mrs.—oh, madam—I am simply stunned!"

"What do you mean?" Virgie demanded, standing straight and tall before her, and meeting her eyes with a blazing look which warned Mrs. Farnum to be careful how she dealt with that spirit.

"Pray, be calm, my child," she returned, with a pitiful accent. "Sit down beside me here, and I will explain why I am so disturbed. Good heavens! we have always supposed that Sir William was a man of unblemished honor."

"Madam, be careful how you speak of my husband!" Virgie interrupted, haughtily, yet with a note of agony in her voice. "Sir William is an honorable man, and I will not allow you to say one word against him in my presence."

"Poor child! poor child! I fear you have been terribly deceived. How can I ever tell you!" murmured Mrs. Farnum, in a shuddering voice, and with every appearance of distress.

"You shall tell me instantly. I will not stand here and listen to such paralyzing insinuations. If you have any thing to tell me, say it at once, and do not keep me in this maddening suspense!" Virgie commanded grasping the woman by the wrist, and transfixing her with her blazing eyes.

If Sir William Heath could have seen her at that moment he would have been very proud of her, for she had never been so beautiful, although a terrible agony was stamped upon her white, imperious face.

"I can only repeat what I have already said. It is impossible. You will never be mistress of Heathdale!" reiterated Mrs. Farnum, in an inflexible voice, as she disengaged her wrist from Virgie's grasp, which had left the imprint of every finger upon it.

"Go on!" commanded the young wife, authoritatively "You have simply made a statement. You must confirm it."

"Because," proceeded the relentless woman, "in the first place, if you are his wife, he would long before this have acknowledged you as such to his friends."

"He has done so, I tell you. He wrote immediately after our marriage, announcing it."

"Did you see him post his letter?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, quietly, but in a tone that keenly stung the sensitive girl before her.

"No," she replied, a hot flush mounting to her brow; "but I know he did. He is to honorable to dissemble."

"Did you ever see any reply to his communication in which his friends recognized the fact of your marriage?"

"No. I—I never questioned him," Virgie answered, with white lips. "My father was very ill, dying, at that time, and I scarcely thought of anything else."

"But of course you have your marriage certificate. That would prove everything," observed Mrs. Farnum, insinuatingly, although she well knew that she had not.

"My husband has it."

"Ah!" and a pitiful smile wreathed the woman's lips as she uttered this interpection with significant emphasis.

"Madam, can you not see that you are driving me mad?" cried Virgie, in an agonized voice. "You have heard something; you are concealing something from me. For mercy's sake, make an end of this suspense!"

"Answer me one question more. Were there witnesses at your marriage?"

"Yes, four."

"Four! Who were they?"

Mrs. Farnum asked this question in a somewhat disappointed tone, for if the young wife could bring four witnesses to prove her marriage, Lady Linton might well tremble for the success of her plots, though Nevada was a long distance from England, and there might be some difficulty in producing them.

"My father"—a sob checked Virgie's utterance as she mentioned him, and realized how forlorn her condition would be if the horrible suspicions which were being sown in her mind should prove true—"the clergyman who performed the ceremony, a woman who lived near us, and our own servant."

"Then, since you have no tangible proof in your own hands that you are Sir William Heath's lawful wife, I advise you to communicate with those witnesses without delay, since their testimony alone will serve to establish your rights and—those of your child," Mrs. Farnum said, with a solemnity that struck a fearful chill to Virgie's heart.

"My child!"

It was a startled, anguished cry, and all the mother-love and anxiety was instantly aroused for her little one.

Was it possible that anything was threatening the honor and future happiness of her child, who, next to its father, was at once her pride and idol?

"Oh!" she cried, pressing her hands to her throbbing temples, "why will you talk so in riddles? If you have anything to tell me, in pity speak out before I lose my reason!"

"Wait one moment, and I will bring you a letter which I have recently received, and when I have read it to you, you will understand why I have been so skeptical regarding what you have told me, and why I have questioned you so closely."

With these words, Mrs. Farnum arose and left the room, while Virgie, almost stunned by the fearful suspicions which had been so artfully thrust upon her, and feeling almost as if a knife had been driven through her heart, sank nerveless and trembling into a chair to await her return.

The relentless woman was not gone long. The ice was thoroughly broken at last, and she meant to make quick work of her task now. Lady Linton had written to her that her brother was becoming very impatient at being detained so long from his wife; he was nearly ill from anxiety because he did not hear from her, and she feared he would soon brave everything and go to her; so whatever was done to separate them eventually, must be quickly done.

She soon returned, holding in her hand a letter, and a lurid light burned in her eyes as she glanced at the stricken wife saw how well her blows had told.

"This letter," she began, seating herself, and drawing some closely written pages from their perfumed envelope, "is from Lady Linton, my intimate friend, and Sir William Heath's sister, and you will perceive, as I read, that my authority for what I have told you is indisputable. Perhaps, however, you would prefer to read it yourself," she concluded, holding it out to her.

But Virgie made a gesture of dissent. She felt that she had not strength even to hold those thin sheets of paper in her trembling hands.

"Very well; then, I will read it to you; but, my young friend, you must be prepared for some startling news."

Virgie opened her lips as if to speak, but the words died on them, and Mrs. Farnum began:

"My Dear Myra:—You will be glad to learn that mamma is really better—not, of course, as far on the road to convalescence as we could desire, but comfortable enough to have had the wedding take place as appointed It would have been too bad if it had to be postponed; so unlucky, you know. We thought once that we should have to put it off indefinitely; but, as mamma could not bear the thought, and Sir Herbert consenting, provided there should be no excitement, we decided not to disarrange the long-talked-of plans. Will and Margie both behaved beautifully, and declared they would cheerfully defer everything if mamma was likely to suffer from it; but it was very evident that their happiness was greatly augmented when told that it would not be necessary. The wedding occurred on the 28th, in the Heath chapel. It was, of course, very quiet and unassuming, though the bride was lovely in her robe of white satin, exquisitely decorated with Chantilly lace, and wreath of heath, which it has always been the custom for the brides of the house to wear. William looked as noble as ever, and our good old rector made the service very impressive not forgetting to mention in his prayer, most touchingly, her who lay ill at home and could not grace with her presence the glad occasion. There was a very quiet breakfast afterward at Mrs. Stanhope's, after which Will and Margie came over for mamma's congratulations and blessing.

"They are not going on a journey just now. They will visit London for a few days, and then return here and remain at home for the present. Will seems almost like a boy in his happiness, while Margie is sweeter and prettier than ever. Of course we are all delighted, for we have always been so pleased at the prospect of the match, though I was afraid for a little while that something might happen. I feared there had been some nonsense when William was in America for I came across the photograph of the loveliest face I ever saw, one day, while looking over and arranging his wardrobe after his return. But the old saying proves true—'All's well that ends well,' and I trust there is a brilliant future for the master of Heathdale."

There was more pertaining to family matters, which Mrs. Farnum thought best to omit after stealing a look at Virgie.

Her face was frightful to behold, and for a moment the woman was positively alarmed at the result of her work.

She sat like a statue, scarce seeming to breathe; there was not the slightest color in her face or lips, and the expression of agony about her mouth reveiled something of the fearful suffering she was enduring, while there was a look in her eyes which her companion never forgot.

She did not move for several minutes after Mrs. Farnum ceased reading; it was as if she had suddenly been turned to stone, and was oblivious of everything.

Mrs. Farnum was awed by her appearance, and hardly dared to speak to her, lest, in breaking the spell, the girl should drop dead at her feet.

But all at once Virgie started; some thought seemed to have come to her—something that made her doubt that the dreadful tidings to which she had listened were true.

The letter had spoken of "Will" and "William," to be sure, and she had every reason to suppose that it had referred to the man whom she had believed to be her husband—still there might be a mistake. She grasped at the straw with the eagerness of a drowning man.

"Of whom is Lady Linton speaking in her letter, as having been—married?" she demanded, in a hollow voice, and fixing her burning eyes upon her companion's face.

"Why, of William Heath, of course," returned Mrs. Farnum, greatly relieved to hear her speak once more, "and I have known him all my life. I used to visit at Heathdale a great deal before Lady Linton's marriage, and he was always a favorite of mine. He was a bright, manly fellow, and his friends have planned great things for him. I—I can hardly credit what you have told me to-day. I did not dream he could do anything so wrong; but doubtless he will settle down now, and I shall expect to see him a member of Parliament; he has everything in his favor."

"Who is—Margie?" Virgie asked, in the same tone as before, though she had shivered at the last words of Mrs. Farnum; they were bitterly cruel.

"Why, Margaret Stanhope—one of the loveliest girls in Hampshire County. She and Will have been engaged for years. You remember that Lady Linton spoke of their always having been 'pleased with the prospect of the match.'"

"Oh!" gasped Virgie, clasping her hands over her aching heart, and for a moment everything seemed to fade from her vision, and a great darkness to envelop her.

Mrs. Farnum thought she was going to faint; but the weakness passed, and then she arose in all the majesty of her terrible agony and righteous indignation.

"Madam," she began, standing straight and proud before the astonished woman, "If what you have told me is true; if Sir William Heath has been engaged to Margaret Stanhope for years; if he has pretended to marry her since his return to England, then the greatest wrong that ever was perpetrated has been done, and he has made a dupe of her and—broken my heart. As sure as there is a just God, I am Sir William Heath's lawful wife, and He will vindicate me. My child is his daughter, and the heiress of Heathdale, and Margaret Stanhope has been shamefully betrayed. I shall never allow such a crime to prevail. I shall sail for Liverpool on the very next steamer, to expose this villainy and to assert my legal rights and my daughter's claim to her position as a Heath of Heathdale. She, at least, shall not suffer dishonor, if the lives of two women have been ruined by the villainy of one man. Did he suppose, because England is three thousand miles from America, that he could perpetrate this wrong with impunity? I tell you it shall never be! I will face him in the home of his unimpeachable ancestors, and see if he dares to repudiate his lawful wife!"



Chapter XVI.

"My Child Is the Heiress of Heathdale!"



Mrs. Farnum looked frightened at Virgie's startling threat, and she realized at once that she had underrated the character of the woman with whom she had to deal.

She saw that she was capable of great decision and prompt action; that beneath her gracious sweetness, and gentle, winning manner, there lay a reserve force and strength upon which she had not reckoned, and which would have to be overcome—if overcome at all—by strategy and deception.

It would never do for the young wife to set out for England, at least if there was any power to prevent it, for it would destroy all their carefully laid plans, and their hopes for the future.

It had never occurred to Mrs, Farnum that she would contemplate such a proceeding.

She knew that she was a stranger and absolutely friendless in the city; there would be no one on whom she could rely to fight her battles. She had imagined her to be weak and yielding, and that she would sink helplessly beneath the terrible blows that she had dealt her, that all life and spirit would be crushed out of her, and she would be only too willing to fly from every one whom she knew, and hide herself and her child, with their supposed shame, in some remote corner of the earth, and that would be the last of them.

Then when Sir William should search for her, as of course she knew he would do, and fail to find her, he could easily be made to believe that she had been untrue, and fled from him; a divorce could be readily obtained to set him free, and thus Sadie, if she played her cards aright, might yet become the mistress of Heathdale.

But the injured wife's project of going to face her recreant husband, and demanding to be acknowledged as the lawful mistress of Heathdale, must be defeated at any cost, and the wily woman immediately set about accomplishing her object.

"Ah, my poor child!" she began, assuming a sympathetic tone, "one cannot blame you for just indignation at having been so deeply wronged. I never would have believed Sir William capable of such dishonor. But surely you will never think of subjecting yourself to an ordeal so terrible as that you have just proposed."

"Why should I not? Why should I shrink from anything that will right this wrong? Nothing can hurt me more than I have been hurt to-day," Virgie answered, spiritedly, yet with inconceivable bitterness.

"But think of Sir William's family. They are exceedingly sensitive and proud spirited, and they would never tolerate your claim for an instant; no shadow of dishonor has ever touched them in any way, and they would not endure the scandal."

"Think of Sir William's family! Why should I consider them? Madam, it is myself of whom I have to think—myself and my innocent little one; and do you suppose I will tolerate the indignity which has been offered me? Is not my good name and that of my child as much at stake, and of as much value as the name of Heath?" Virgie cried, her proud spirit blazing forth in righteous indignation.

"But Sir William is a peer of the realm."

"A peer!"

Mrs. Farnum actually cringed beneath the scorn that rang out in the young wife's tone as she repeated these words:

"And are peers of the realm exempt from all dishonor when they violate every law, both human and divine?" she continued, with stinging sarcasm. "Does the code of your nobility provide that young and innocent girls, who are basely betrayed, shall sit tamely down and meekly bear their injuries, so that your peers of the realm can go unscathed? If so, thank heaven that your laws do not prevail in this country. You are yourself a mother—you are proud of your beautiful daughter; but think you if she stood in my place you would advise her to consider the feelings of Sir William's family, to ignore her rights, and shut her eyes to her own injuries, lest she cast a shadow of dishonor upon their proud escutcheon? And do you think that I am less of a woman than she—that I am devoid of fine sensibilities, of pride and self-respect?"

Mrs. Farnum had winced as under a lash during all this spirited speech. Its scorn and sarcasm stung her keenly, and made her very angry. She longed to revenge herself upon the proud girl who had presumed to rank herself along with her daughter, by proclaiming the secret regarding her life, which she had so cunningly learned in San Francisco.

But she feared to arouse her further. She realized that she must seek to conciliate her, and try to persuade her not to take the mad journey to England which she seemed so bent upon.

"Oh, no, my poor child," she began, soothingly; "you do not realize what you are saying. Of course, I know it is all very wrong to deceive a girl in any such way, be she high or low, rich or poor. But just consider how you are situated. You say that your hus—that Sir William has your marriage certificate, and you have nothing to prove your statements with, even if you should present yourself at Heathdale. How do you suppose you would be received there if you should burst in upon them claiming to be Sir William's wife and the mistress of Heathdale if you could not substantiate your statements? My dear, it would be the blindest folly."

"But I have his letters!" cried Virgie, eagerly.

"True, you have his letters, and no doubt his handwriting would be instantly recognized by his family, But they could not prove your position, especially if they are all written after the style of the one which you allowed me to read this afternoon, for in all those pages not once does he speak of you as his wife. You must have something more tangible and conclusive than those," Mrs. Farnum asserted, confidently.

All the light died out of Virgie's face as she began to see that there were terrible difficulties in the way of proving that she was a lawfully wedded wife.

"I have my ring," she said, weakly, and holding up the white, delicate hand on which the heavy circlet gleamed, guarded by a brilliant diamond, but which trembled like a reed shaken by the wind.

"Is it marked with the date of your marriage?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, an anxious gleam in her eye as it rested upon that symbol of wifehood.

"N-o; it was thoughtlessly neglected at the time, because there were so many other things to be attended to, and—and I could not bear to have it taken off to rectify the oversight, after it was once put upon my hand," Virgie confessed, growing white again even to her lips.

"That was unwise, not to say foolish of you," said Mrs. Farnum, deprecatingly, but with a throb of exultation.

"But," added Virgie, after thinking a moment, "he brought me here as his wife. The proprietor of this hotel will tell you so. Dr. Knox, my physician, will tell you so also, as I was introduced to him by my husband as Mrs. Heath; and there are other people in the house who know it."

Mrs. Farnum smiled pitifully.

"My dear," she said, gravely, "how many of these people do you think would be willing to swear that you are Sir William Heath's wife, if you should ask them to do so? How many would put their names to a paper certifying their honest conviction that you are, if told the title and position he occupies in his own country and your history in this?"

Virgie started at these words, and would have asked the woman what she knew of her history, but she went on as if she had not remarked her emotion:

"If Sir William had brought you here as Lady Heath, registered himself in his own proper character, and taken you into society thus, there would have been no room for doubt. But instead, what has he done? It is very strange that your own suspicions have not been aroused by his actions. He has registered everywhere as plain 'William Heath and lady.' Instead of going to the public table, as most of the guests are in the habit of doing, he has paid extra rates to have your meals served in your own rooms, and kept you secluded from almost every one. What construction do you suppose would be put upon these facts, if they were submitted to people generally, if——"

"But, Mrs. Farnum, all this was done out of regard for my feelings. I told you that we did not wish to be conspicuous while traveling, so my husband dropped his title. I could not go into society here, and I did not like to go to the public table where I should be—obliged to meet so many strangers," Virgie interrupted, a hot flush rising to her brow, while there was a weary, hunted look, in her eyes as the cunning woman continued to weave her tangled web about her.

"Of course, I can understand all that," replied Mrs. Farnum, indulgently, "but how would it appear as evidence if brought up in connection with your efforts to prove yourself a lawful wife?"

Virgie's heart sank.

Turned which way she would, everything, as argued and distorted by her companion, appeared against her, and for a moment it seemed as if her spirit was crushed within her.

But at that instant a little cry from the adjoining room fell upon her ears, and immediately all her natural pride and energy returned to her aid.

She straightened herself and lifted her head proudly a look of firm resolve settling upon her face and gleaming in her eyes.

"There are proofs," she said, in a low, firm tone, "even though I have not my marriage certificate and though some people may doubt the truth of what I assert, and—I will yet have them. My father, who would have been my strongest helper, is dead, but there are three other witnesses living who can swear that I am a lawful wife. There must be records also, and, madam, I will move heaven and earth to establish my rightful position in life."

Mrs. Farnum trembled before this indomitable resolution.

"And would you be willing to occupy it, even if you could establish it?" she asked, with a covert sneer, "would you force yourself into a position which, appearances go to prove, was never intended to be given to you? Would you force yourself upon a man who had subjected you to the indignity of repudiating you as a wife and put another in your place?"

Virgie's head reeled beneath the force of these cruel questions, and she swayed dizzily, as if about to fall, for a moment.

Then again with a mighty effort she recovered herself.

"No," she cried, her beautiful lips curling with, scorn, every pulse in her body throbbing with contempt "the chosen mistress of Heathdale may keep her position after I have proven my right to it, if she prizes it enough to pay the price of her own dishonor; but my child is also the lawful child of Sir William Heath—she is the heiress to all his possessions and she shall yet occupy the place in the world that rightfully belongs to her, no matter who else may stand in her path. It may take time to accomplish all this, but, mark me, Mrs. Farnum, and tell your 'proud, unimpeachable family' at Heathdale so, if you choose, it shall be accomplished."

"Then of course you will not be able to sail immediately for England as you at first proposed to do," returned Mrs. Farnum, her heart leaping with joy as Virgie's words told her that she had changed her mind regarding her first threat.

"No, I can see, now I come to consider the matter, that it would be folly for me to attempt to gain my rights without being armed with positive proof of what I assert. It exists, however, though it will necessitate much trouble and expense to secure it. Three months hence, however, I shall hope to have it in my hands, then, let your 'peer of the realm' and his 'honored family' take warning, for a righteous judgment will surely overtake them for the wrong which I suffer to-day. Now go—leave me if you please; you may have meant well in telling me what you have, but, oh! you have ruined my life and all my hopes," Virgie concluded, with a moan and gesture full of despair.

Her strength was failing her; the bitterness of death was upon her and she longed to be alone, for she could not endure that any one should witness her cruel humiliation.

Her last words had galled Mrs. Farnum almost beyond endurance; no doubt because she realized that there was so much truth in them, while her threat regarding a righteous judgment overtaking the family at Heathdale caused her heart to sink with a sudden dread of disgraceful punishment for herself if ever her complicity in this foul plot should be discovered.

She arose, cold and stern.

"I ruin your life, indeed!" she answered, haughtily. "I think you have no one to thank for that but yourself, for having lent a too willing ear to the flattering tongue of a strange young man."

She swept from the room with a firm step and uplifted head, while Virgie sank prostrate upon the floor, feeling as if her heart had been ruthlessly trampled upon and all the life and hope crushed out of it.



Chapter XVII.

The Last Drop in a Bitter Cup.



"The girl has more spirit than I gave her credit for," Mrs. Farnum muttered to herself, as she entered her own rooms after leaving Virgie. "If she persists in her purpose of securing proofs and going to Heathdale to claim her position, of course it will upset everything. However, she will not be able to do that at present; she must first take a long journey, and meantime Miriam will, no doubt, think of some way to prevent a denouement. Doubtless the girl will write once more and charge Sir William with his perfidy—she is not one to bear tamely such a wrong; but Miriam will be on the watch, and if the little upstart gets no reply, her pride will probably assert itself, and we shall have no more trouble with her, for a while at least. Meantime Sir William may be prevailed upon to get a divorce, and then the way will be clear once more for Sadie.

"How fortunate," she added, going on with her soliloquy, "that Will Heath and Margie were married just at this time!—she swallowed that story whole. Well, I must confess it was calculated to stagger any one, though I was almost afraid she had heard something before about the facts; but it seems she had not."

* * * * *

The truth regarding the news that Mrs. Farnum had received from Lady Linton, and which the latter had so cunningly utilized to further her scheme to separate her brother and his wife, was this:

Sir William Heath had a cousin who bore the same name as himself, though without the title, of course.

He was three years older than the young baronet, and had been named for his uncle, with the hope that he would be received as the heir in case no son was born to the elder Sir William. But this was not to be.

From childhood the boy had been attached to his little, neighbor and playmate, Margaret Stanhope, and they had been engaged for years, as Mrs. Farnum told Virgie.

But being the son of a younger son, he had had to struggle somewhat for his education and position in life, and it was only a few months previous to Sir William's return from America that he had succeeded in securing a situation as private secretary to a nobleman, and thus felt that at last he had a right to marry the sweet girl whom he had so long and so fondly loved, and make a home for himself.

The marriage had been set for the 28th of June, but Lady Heath's sudden and alarming illness, it was feared, would necessitate a postponement. But when she began to improve, and the question being submitted to her, she, having a great fondness for both her nephew and his betrothed, had insisted that the marriage should proceed. It accordingly took place in the chapel at Heathdale, Sir William himself giving away the bride, as her father was not living. So it will readily be seen that there was a semblance of truth in nearly all that Lady Linton had written to Mrs. Farnurn.

She had not been quite sure that she would succeed in this part of her scheme, for it might be that Sir William had mentioned the fact of his having a cousin by the same name; so she had written her letter in a way to do no harm in case it did not help her plan. If Virgie did not know, however, she would readily take it for granted that it was her husband who had been married on the 28th, while the fact that a long engagement had existed would seem to prove that he had wilfully deceived her from the first, and tend to make her believe that her own marriage had been simply a farce.

Knowing that the certificate was in Sir William's possession, that Mr. Abbot was dead, and surmising, from their signatures, that two of the witnesses at least were very ignorant, she hoped, even if Virgie should have sufficient spirit to assert herself that it would be very difficult for her to collect proofs of a legal marriage. She knew that she could bring plenty of evidence to prove the fact that they had lived and traveled together for several months under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Heath, but she did not believe that that would count for very much; it would not be the first time that such a thing had occurred—young men would sow wild oats occasionally, and though it might wound her pride terribly to have any scandal arise regarding the matter, yet she could bear that with a far better grace than to have an ignorant plebeian from the wilds of America become the mistress of Heathdale.

Her aim was to estrange and keep the couple separated long enough to secure a divorce and compromise Sir William with Sadie Farnum, and then she would be ready to snap her fingers at all danger for the future.

Mrs. Farnum wrote immediately to Lady Linton, giving her a full account of her interview with her despised sister-in-law, while Virgie, as soon as she could recover sufficient strength and composure to make the effort, also wrote a long letter to Sir William.

She told him everything, just as if she had not written to him before—how his letters had suddenly ceased, and how she had waited and hoped to hear from him until she had grown weary and heart-sick from his long silence.

She told of her meeting with the Farnums, and of the wretched story she had just learned from the elder lady. She begged him for but one word of contradiction, and she would believe in him and wait patiently for his own time for coming to her. But if the terrible tale was true—if he had deceived her from the first, and had cheated her and her father into believing that he was making her really his wife, when it had been only a farce, to tell her plainly, and she would never trouble him again.

When the letter was finished she went out and posted it herself, to insure its going by the first steamer, and then she tried to school herself to wait patiently for a reply.

But in a day or two she became conscious of a change in the inmates of the house toward her. Ladies whom she knew met and passed her with a cold nod, and a bold stare, which brought a scarlet flush to her cheeks. Some, indeed, did not deign to recognize her at all. The servants were less attentive, almost rude, the clerk and proprietor distant and reserved.

Too well she understood what it all meant, and there was but one way to account for the sudden change in the atmosphere which surrounded her.

Mrs. Farnum, the only one in the house who could possibly know anything regarding her history, must have given some hint of her apparently questionable position.

But there was no redress, for she would not humiliate herself enough to ask an explanation; so she could only submit in silence, and bear it with what fortitude she could summon to her aid, while she was waiting to hear from her husband.

But she endured agonies during the time, and the days dragged, oh, so heavily by.

She remained closely in her own rooms, seeing no one save the servants and her own nurse, and devoting herself to the care of her little one.

At last the day that she had set for a letter to come arrived, and she grew feverish, almost hysterical while waiting for the mail to be delivered.

She heard the clerk going his rounds; he stopped at Mrs. Farnum's door to leave something, and then came on toward her door. Her heart stood still as he approached. He passed by—there was nothing for her, and her heart was almost broken.

She sent the nurse down to the office to ask if there was not some mistake—if Mrs. Heath's mail had not been overlooked.

"No, there are no letters for Mrs. Heath," the man answered, with a peculiar emphasis on the name, and an insolent laugh, that made the woman very angry.

When she related the circumstance to Virgie, she threw up her arms, with a gesture of despair, and cried out:

"Oh! what shall I do?"

She appeared stunned, crushed, and the kind-hearted creature who served her, and who, of course, had known that something was wrong, was extremely anxious about her.

She begged that she might be allowed to send for Dr. Knox; but Virgie refused, with a shudder. She could not bear the thought of the good physician learning the story of her desertion and shame, for such, she began to feel, must be the true construction to be put upon Sir William's long absence and silence.

A little later there came a tap upon her door. She sent the nurse to answer it, and heard some one say:

"Mrs. Farnum's compliments, and she would like Mrs. Heath to read these, and then return them to her."

The nurse shut the door, and then came to Virgie, with a letter and paper in her hand.

For an instant she thought it might be a letter for her, and she seized it with an eager cry.

But no; it was addressed to Mrs. Farnum, though it bore the Heathdale postmark, and was in the handwriting of Lady Linton.

Virgie grew deathly white, and clutched at her throat, for it seemed as if she were suffocating.

Then she mastered her emotion, and crept away to her chamber to read the letter, for she felt that it contained some fatal news, and she wished no one to witness her suffering as she read it.

With it convulsively clasped in her hands, she fell upon her knees and sobbed:

"Oh, Heaven, spare me deeper sorrow! oh, do not confirm my shame!"

It was some time before she could compose herself enough to read that fatal missive, but at length she unfolded it and began to peruse it.

* * * * *

"Dear Myra," the letter began, "you may be surprised by the contents of this, but I cannot bring myself to address that person by the name which she claims, and so feel compelled to ask you to oblige me by giving her a message, or, perhaps what would be better, allow her to read this letter for herself. My brother is away from home just now, and, as my custom is in his absence, I open all letters of a private nature, and act as I judge best regarding them. The wildest epistle imaginable came to him yesterday and I was thankful that he was away, for he is so very happy that it must have shocked him exceedingly and I shall need to communicate its contents very delicately to him.

"That girl of whom you wrote me in your last actually claims to be his lawful wife—believes it, I suppose, poor child—and cannot understand how utterly impossible it would be for any one belonging to an old and honorable family like ours to ally himself with one so low in the social scale. I am shocked that my brother should have been guilty of anything so out of character as she represents while he was abroad. I am sincerely sorry for the wrong which it appears he has done her, if what she says is true, and shall insist that he provide comfortably for her for the future; but, of course, the idea that she has a right to come here as mistress is preposterous, and I trust that you will make it appear so to her. Advise her to renounce at once all claim to the name, and settle quietly in some place where she is not known, and perhaps she may be able to bring up her child in a respectable way, so that its prospects will not be hampered in the future by its mother's mistake.

"Will and Margie returned while I was writing to you, and both look so well and happy that it does my heart good to see them. Of course I had to stop for awhile, but now I will try and finish my letter. I have had a serious talk with my brother, and he appears to feel very much troubled over his American escapade, confessed that he had done wrong, and gave me this hundred pound note, which I inclose for the benefit of the girl; and I sincerely trust she will do nothing more to disturb a happy household, and one which will be very much annoyed by any useless scandal."

There followed a little more pertaining in an indifferent way to the above household, but Virgie had read enough, and the letter fell from her nerveless fingers, while she sat staring vacantly before her, her brain almost turned by the heartless words she had just read, her heart broken with its weight of woe, while a feeling of utter wretchedness and desolation made her long for death to steep her senses in oblivion.

She forgot all about the paper which had been given her with the letter, while the hundred-pound note, which had been inclosed with it, had fluttered out unheeded as she drew it from the envelope, and now lay upon the floor at her feet.

Later she examined the paper, and found a notice of the marriage of William Heath and Margaret Stanhope. Whether Lady Linton had been the cause of it to further her schemes, or whether some strange fatality had occasioned the mistake, it would be difficult to say, but the paragraph read:

"Married:—On the 28th instant, in the Heath Chapel, Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, to Miss Margaret Stanhope, only daughter of the late Sidney Stanhope."

Thus was added the last drop to the cup of bitterness which Virgie had to drink.

There had been a strange mixture of truth and falsehood in the letter which Lady Linton wrote to Mrs. Farnum.

Her brother was away for a day or two on a matter of business when Virgie's imploring epistle arrived—a circumstance for which his sister was most thankful, for it was no trifling matter for her to be always on the alert to intercept the letters that passed, through the bag at Heathdale. But she had succeeded in accomplishing this by having had an extra key made for the lock and always accompanying the carriage when it went for the mail.

This drive she called her "constitutional," and as the carriage was a closed one, she could readily unlock the bag and abstract the letters she wanted without being seen, and consequently was never suspected of having anything to do with the interrupted correspondence of Sir William and Virgie.

She had also been interrupted while writing to Mrs. Farnum by the return of her brother and the entrance of her cousin's new wife. Afterward she had had a talk with Sir William, in which he confessed to feeling greatly "troubled" regarding Virgie and her long, unaccountable silence. He said he felt that he had "done wrong" to have left her so long, for, as it had proved, his mother was gradually though slowly improving, and he might have gone and returned without affecting her health; he should see Sir Herbert Randal when he came again, and make arrangements to sail immediately for America. But Lady Linton cunningly provided against this calamity by privately informing the physician that her mother was worrying over this threatened departure, and he succeeded in prevailing upon the baronet to wait a week or two longer.

Sir William had, indeed, given his sister a hundred-pound note, but it was for the benefit of a poor girl who had been crippled by a railway accident; and thus all these circumstances being artfully woven into her letter had something of truth in them, and helped to serve the scheming woman's purpose.



Chapter XVIII.

"I Will Prove It."



It was very fortunate for Virgie that she had a little one at this time, else she would have deemed life scarcely worth the living, so stunned and crushed was she by the terrible blow that had fallen upon her.

For two long hours, after reading that letter from Lady Linton, and the paper containing that paragraph of William Heath's marriage, she lay as if paralyzed upon her bed. One would hardly believe that she lived at all, but for that look of unutterable woe in her eyes and the expression of agony about her mouth.

But she was aroused at last to a sense of her duties and responsibilities as a mother, by the crying of little Virgie in the outer room; and yet that cry was like another dagger plunged into her heart, for it reminded her that, if the dreadful things which she had been told were true, her whole future was dishonored—that she was a betrayed and deserted woman and her child nameless.

"Oh, Heaven! it cannot be!" she cried, lifting her arms with a gesture of despair and locking her fingers in a convulsive clasp above her head, while her mind went back over the past and reviewed every event that had occurred since the beginning of her acquaintance with Sir William Heath.

She had believed in him so thoroughly, he had seemed so noble and true, so entirely above all deception and double dealing. He had appeared to love her so devotedly, had been so proud of her as the future mistress of his beautiful home, and so supremely happy in the anticipation of the coming of their little one. He had hoped for a son and heir, and yet he had expressed no disappointment upon learning that their child was a daughter; he had welcomed the little stranger most tenderly in his letter and fondly named her, to please himself, for her mother.

He had seemed so impatient and regretful at the thought of leaving her so long alone, and had promised to come to her the moment that he could safely leave his mother.

All this made it very difficult for Virgie to believe in his apparent perfidy and treachery, and yet the evidence against him seemed so overwhelming that she was convinced in spite of herself.

She did not dream of a plot against her, for she could not conceive of any motive for one; but his letters had suddenly ceased and she could not believe accident had caused it, when she had written again and again telling him of it and pleading for but a word from him.

Then she had heard that story of the engagement to Margaret Stanhope, then the account of the marriage at Heathdale, by Lady Linton, who appeared entirely ignorant of her existence even; and taking all this into consideration, together with the notice which had appeared in the paper sent to Mrs. Farnum she felt obliged to accept the fact of Sir William's intentional treachery and desertion.

Yet in the face of everything she clung to the conviction that she was a lawful wife—that her child was the heiress of Heathdale; but the difficulty was to prove it.

"Prove it? I will prove it," she cried, and at once all that was resolute in Virginia Heath's character began to struggle to assert itself, and she went forth from her chamber, at that cry from little Virgie, with an unflinching purpose written upon her heart.

The nurse cried out in alarm as she saw her white face and sunken eyes.

"You are ill, madam," she exclaimed. "Go back to bed—the baby will do well enough with me."

"No, I am not ill," Virgie answered, as she took her little one, but she spoke in a strained, unnatural tone, adding, "I would like you to go to Mrs. Farnum's door and say that I desire a 'few moments' interview with her."

The woman went to do her bidding, but muttered with a troubled look:

"These English people seem to bring nothing but sorrow and mischief to the poor thing, in spite of their sweet ways and honeyed speeches; I wish they'd clear out—and whatever her husband can mean to leave her here alone so long and not a line to tell her why is more'n I can make out."

Mrs. Farnum obeyed Virgie's request with some misgivings; but she saw at once upon entering the room that the young wife believed the very worst, and she was half frightened at the result of her work.

Virgie arose as she entered, her baby clasped close in her arms, and handed her the letter which she had sent her to read.

"Here is your letter, Mrs. Farnum," she said, with a cold dignity that awed her visitor, "and you will find the note inclosed with it. Please be particular to have it returned to the one who sent it."

"But, my dear, will you not need it yourself?" interrupted the woman with assumed kindness.

Virgie's lips curled.

"It was an unpardonable insult to offer it to me," she said, with spirit. "I cannot understand how they dared to send it to me in any such way; indeed, I cannot understand a good many things that have come to me through you. If Sir William Heath has wilfully done me this irreparable injury he might at least have been man enough to strike the blow himself, rather than employ women to be his emissaries."

Mrs. Farnum winced.

"Ah! but you forget—"

"I forget nothing; do you suppose that I could?" cried Virgie, sharply, "but I might at least have been spared this last indignity—to offer me a paltry hundred pounds when he has a fortune in his hands belonging to me."

"A fortune! I did not suppose—I did not know that you had any money," stammered Mrs. Farnum, looking blank.

"My father left me a good many thousands of dollars when he died; it was all settled upon me at the time of my marriage, but Sir William Heath took charge of it and has it now. He deposited five thousand dollars in a bank here for my use, while he should be away, and the most of that remains; but there is much more that rightly belongs to me," Virgie explained.

"Then this hundred pounds surely is your due," Mrs. Farnum said, as she drew it from the envelope and held it out to the young wife.

Virgie drew back haughtily.

"Do you suppose that I would accept as charity a paltry sum like that?—for Lady Linton sent it as such, and as a sort of remuneration for what I suffer. It is an outrage which I cannot brook, and I am amazed at the audacity that prompted it."

So was Mrs. Farnum amazed, and she saw at once that Lady Linton had unwittingly committed a great blunder. She had never dreamed that Virgie had had money at the time of her marriage, and she imagined that Lady Linton was also ignorant that her brother had taken back to England a fortune belonging to the girl whom they were thus seeking to wrong.

Matters were getting complicated, and she almost wished that she had never allowed herself to become involved in them.

"You should have kept your marriage certificate," she faltered, "every wife should do that—then you could have proved your claim."

"I shall prove it yet," Virgie declared, in a clear, decisive voice. "Do you imagine I am going to sit tamely down and allow a stigma to rest upon this innocent child if there is any power on earth to prevent it? In spite of all that you have told me, or all that your friends have written, I know that I am Sir William Heath's lawful wife. If he committed a rash and impulsive act, and one which he regrets now, while he was in America and while he was bound by other ties in England he must suffer the consequences. I cannot understand how he has dared to perpetrate such a farce, were he a thousand times engaged to Miss Stanhope; how he has dared to so wrong and compromise one of his own countrywomen, for, just so sure as we both live, it will all be exposed sooner or later. All this I will do for the sake of my child; then——"

"Then?" repeated Mrs. Farnum, leaning eagerly toward the resolute girl.

"Then I will repudiate him. I will never look upon his face again. I will give him his freedom—will divorce myself from him; and then, if the woman who now believes herself to be his wife wishes it, or will accept it, he can make the tie between them legal."

"You will obtain a divorce?" said her companion, with an exultant thrill.

This was something she had never thought of before She and Lady Linton had both hoped to estrange this fond couple, then make Sir William believe in his wife's infidelity, and work upon his feelings and pride until he should be willing to seek a divorce; but they had never imagined that Virgie would be the one to suggest such a measure. Such a preceding on her part would wonderfully facilitate matters, and Mrs. Farnum, who a few minutes previous began to be disheartened, was greatly encouraged.

"Exactly," Virgie replied. "Do you imagine that I desire to hold Sir William Heath unwillingly bound to me? Do you think that I would ever have consented to become his wife if I had known that any one had a prior claim upon him? But, are you sure that he was engaged to Miss Stanhope before he came to America?" the young wife asked, as doubt again arose in her mind.

"Yes; Will and Margie have been betrothed for years—ten, at least, I should say. Did you not read it for yourself in Lady Linton's letter?" Mrs. Farnum returned; but there was a vivid flush on her cheek as she told the wretched lie, even while she was literally speaking the truth.

A convulsion of pain passed over Virgie's face.

"True; but it is all so strange," she said, wearily. "And I suppose—she loves him?"

"I believe her life would be ruined if anything should happen to part them," said the woman, ruthlessly.

Any icy shiver ran over Virgie from head to foot, and a low moan escaped her lips.

No one cared for her ruined life; it was nothing that she was parted forever from the man she adored.

"I will not part them," she said, in a hollow tone; "but—"

"Well?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, with a painful thrill, as she paused on the word, with a threatening intonation.

"A day of reckoning will surely come for him," Virgie answered, firmly; "for, if this child lives, she will one day make her appearance at Heathdale and claim her heritage. There may be other children, but she will have the first right there. Tell your Lady Linton this—tell her that 'that girl,' of whom she wrote so slightingly and heartlessly, will live to educate her child for her position as the mistress of her 'proud ancestral home;' tell her to warn her brother that the day of retribution will not fail to overtake him."

Virgie was regally beautiful as she stood there before her enemy and pronounced this stern prophecy. There was not an atom of color in her face, but her figure was drawn proudly erect, a sort of majesty in every graceful curve, while there was a resolute, inflexible purpose in every line of her beautiful features, and her eyes burned with a steady, relentless fire which told that, if she lived, she would accomplish her vow, let the cost be what it would.

Mrs. Farnum, woman of the world though she was, felt cowed and abashed before her, and when, without waiting for a reply, the wronged wife turned from her and walked, with a firm, unfaltering step, into her chamber, shutting the door after her, she slunk away to her own room, feeling like the guilty thing she was, and trembling for the future if it should ever be discovered what part she had played in the plot to ruin Virginia Heath's happiness.

She was dismayed by the young mother's last words. At first she felt triumphant when she had spoken of her intention of obtaining a divorce, for such a measure would simplify matters greatly; it would relieve Lady Linton from the disagreeable task of trying to persuade her brother to adopt such a course, and thus he would be free, without any effort of his own, to wed whom he chose, and she had reckoned upon Sadie being the favored one.

But she had not taken into consideration the fact that Virgie's child would have a claim upon Heathdale; no divorce would affect her right there, if the legality of Sir William's marriage to Virgie could be proved, and thus endless trouble, to say nothing of the scandal the story would create, might ensue.

Still, there were a hundred "ifs" and possibilities in the way. Virgie might not be able to get satisfactory proofs; the child might not live; she might not live herself to accomplish her object; and she finally resolved to try to be satisfied with the success of her plot thus far, and not trouble herself about future developments. But that pale, beautiful face, with that resolute yet heart-broken look upon it, haunted her for years afterward. She was deeply thankful that Sadie was not there to see it, and she was resolved that they should not meet again.

That evening Virgie was waited upon by the proprietor of the house, who, with much stammering and many apologies, informed her that he was obliged to request her to vacate the rooms that she was occupying.

She understood instantly, but her proud spirit rebelled against this last indignity, and she arose and stood before him in all the majesty of her insulted womanhood.

"Sir! Mr. Eldridge! you will please explain this very extraordinary request," she said, meeting his eyes with a steady glance.

Mr. Eldridge hemmed, looked embarrassed, and remarked with all the blandness he could assume:

"Really, Mrs. ——, madam, I regret to pain you, and it might be as well to avoid explanations."

"No, sir; that is impossible; my husband left me here with the understanding that I should remain here until he came for me, and there must therefore be some very urgent reason for such a strange proceeding on your part."

"Yes, madam," said the man, driven to the wall. "—I—I have been informed that—that you are not Mrs. Heath at all; that the gentleman who brought you here was not what he represented himself to be."

"What authority have you for making such a statement Virgie demanded, haughtily:

"This," answered the hotel keeper, producing the paper containing the notice of the marriage at Heathdale which Mrs. Farnum had slyly laid upon his desk, with the marked paragraph uppermost. She was very careful, however, not to appear in the matter to commit herself.

She had determined to get Virgie away before Sadie's return from Coney Island, while she feared, too, the coming of Sir William to investigate the cause of his wife's long silence.

One glance was sufficient to tell Virgie what paper it was, and she flushed to her brow.

"I see," she said, scornfully, "those who have professed to be my friends are leagued against me."

"But—pardon me—have you no doubts yourself regarding your position?" questioned the landlord, feeling a deep pity for the beautiful woman, in spite of his anxiety regarding the reputation of his house.

"None," but the word came hoarsely from the now hueless lips.

"But you have had no letters for a long time; the gentleman has for years been engaged to an English lady; this paper gives a notice of his recent marriage to her, and everything goes to prove that you have been grossly deceived. It is very unfortunate, but I have received notice from several of my guests that they will leave to-morrow morning unless I insist upon this change, and thus it becomes my painful duty to request these rooms to be vacated."

This was a bitter blow to add to all the rest, but Virgie, conscious of her own purity, bore it with Spartan-like heroism.

She cast one look of scorn upon the man before her, then said, with a calmness that was born of despair:

"Sir, I still assert, in the face of all that you have just said, that I am the wife of Mr.—yes, of Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, Hampshire County, England and some day it will be in my power to prove to you the truth of my words; but I have no wish to occasion you either trouble or loss, so I will go away; to-morrow morning."

The landlord looked greatly relieved at this assurance and yet he was impressed both by her manner and her words.

He assured her of his sympathy, and kindly offered to assist her in obtaining other rooms and establishing herself in them.

Virgie quietly declined this offer, however, and, thanking her for her speedy compliance with his request Mr. Eldridge took his leave, though, to his credit be it said, with considerable shamefacedness and embarrassment.

The next morning Virgie sent to Dr. Knox for his bill, paid it, dismissed her nurse, notwithstanding her urgent plea to be retained even at reduced wages, and then she quietly disappeared from the place, leaving no trace behind her to point to her destination or future plans, and, after the gossip consequent upon such a choice bit of scandal had died away, she was, for the time at least, forgotten.



Chapter XIX.

Sir William Heath Returns To America.



"I cannot understand it, Miriam. It is the strangest thing in the world, and I shall sail for America on the very next steamer."

It was Sir William Heath who spoke thus, and there was no mistaking the decision in his voice.

He was sitting at the breakfast-table in the large, sunny dining-room at Heathdale, while the open and empty mail-bag lay upon the table beside him.

There were several letters scattered around his plate, but these were unheeded, while the anxious, perplexed look on the baronet's fine face told that he was deeply troubled about something.

Lady Linton sat opposite him, and she had been furtively watching him during his examination of the bag. There were two very bright spots upon her cheeks, which might have been caused by her morning drive to the post-office; or they might have been produced by a guilty conscience and anxiety regarding her brother's announcement.

"Then there is no letter for you this morning?" she remarked, trying to appear unconcerned.

"No; and I am nearly wild with anxiety. I must go to Virgie at once," Sir William responded, moodily.

"I do not know how mamma will bear the thought of your going," Lady Linton said, looking grave.

"It cannot harm her. Sir Herbert says she is doing very well, and I might have gone last week but for the severe cold which she took. I must go, Miriam. My wife is more to me than all the world, and this unaccountable silence and suspense is unbearable. I am afraid something dreadful has happened to her, for, just think, I have not heard one word from her since she wrote me after the birth of our little one."

"Why don't you cable, then? I am going in town this morning, and I will send a message for you, if you wish," craftily suggested his sister, who felt very uncomfortable at the thought of his starting off so suddenly: for he might meet his wife just at the very moment when success was about to crown her plans.

She had heard from Mrs. Farnum only once since her coup d'etat, when she had given an account of that last interview with the heart-broken wife. The letter had been posted that same day, for the woman had not hoped that Virgie would leave the house so quickly, even though she knew she was going to be asked to do so; and as she knew her friend would be anxious to learn the result of her last measure, and as a steamer was to sail the next morning, she had written immediately.

"I suppose you might cable and get a reply before a steamer sails," murmured Sir William, thoughtfully. "It does not seem as if I could wait even the time it would take for me to get to her."

"I suppose you are very anxious. It is natural that you should be," responded Lady Linton, as she broke an egg into her cup and busied herself seasoning it, although she did not even taste it after it was prepared. Excitement and anxiety had destroyed her appetite.

Two or three times every week, of late, there had been just such a scene as this when the mail came in after the arrival of a steamer.

No letters came from Virgie. At least, he received none; for they were all cunningly abstracted before the bag came into the house, and Sir William did not dream that any one possessed a key to it save himself, and so, of course was unsuspicious of any plot.

It was simply unaccountable to him, and he was, as he said, almost wild from anxiety on account of his dear ones.

He could not touch his food this morning, his disappointment was so great, and he nervously unfolded his paper and began to look for an announcement of the sailing of some steamer.

"The Cephalonia will sail on Saturday," he remarked, at length. "This is Wednesday. I shall leave on Friday for Liverpool. You can break the news to my mother, and I am sure you will do very well without me until my return. She must strive to be reasonable, for I cannot live like this another week."

"Very well; I will do my best to keep her cheerful while you are gone," returned Lady Linton, trying to appear at ease, although she was quaking in mortal fear lest all her plotting should come to naught.

She sometimes regretted having written that last letter and sent that hundred pounds to Virgie. She began to fear that she might have overreached herself by so doing, for, if her brother and his wife should meet, Virgie would of course tell her husband everything, and he would at once understand that his sister had been guilty of all the mischief—intercepted letters, and all. She knew that he would never forgive her; she would be ignominiously banished from Heathdale, and be obliged to hide herself at Linton Grange, where she would lead a life of poverty and seclusion; so it is not strange that she trembled at the thought of Sir William sailing for America.

"Shall you return at once?" she asked, as they arose from the table.

"Just as soon as I can possibly arrange to do so; and, Miriam, I want no pains spared to make the home-coming of my wife an agreeable one."

"You shall be obeyed," Lady Linton replied, with downcast eyes and a heavily throbbing heart; "but of course you will let me know when to expect you."

"Certainly; and the suite of rooms over the library are to be put in order for Virgie."

"Very well; I will speak to the housekeeper about it."

"You will mention, too, for whom they are being prepared," Sir William said, glancing sharply at his sister. "It must be known at once that I have a wife and child. I have made a great mistake in allowing you to persuade me to keep silence upon the subject so long."

"But it was for mamma's sake, you know; while she was so ill it was better not to have it talked about," apologized Lady Linton; but she mentally resolved that she should be in no hurry to tell the secret, even if he had ordered her to do so, at least until she was sure her brother would find his wife.

Something might prevent his bringing Virgie home, and in that case a scandal would be avoided if she kept silence. She would wait, at least, until he notified her of the date of his return.

"It was a mistake, I tell you," Sir William repeated, with a clouded brow. "It has been a mark of disloyalty to my wife which I will tolerate no longer. So please do as I request."

Lady Linton bowed.

"Shall I cable for you?" she asked, after a moment of silence. "I shall be in London most of the day, and perhaps I may be able to get a reply to bring you on my return."

"No, thanks; I, too, shall go in town to-day, to engage my passage, and I will attend to the matter myself," Sir William replied, and the heart of the schemer sank within her.

She had intended to cable to Mrs. Farnum, and, if Virgie was still at the hotel, authorize her to use any strategy to get her away before her brother should arrive, and then send her a dispatch to suit the emergency.

But, if he cabled himself, and received an answer from his wife, she had the very worst to fear for herself.

They went up to London on the same train, and Lady Linton suffered agonies during that ride, and all day long, while she was shopping, her suspense was terrible to her.

But when she entered the station, late in the afternoon, to return to Heathdale, she was both startled and relieved to find her brother already there, and pacing back and forth outside the waiting-room in great excitement.

"Have you news, William?" she faltered, her heart beating almost to suffocation.

"Yes," he answered, in a strained unnatural tone. "Here, read this!" and he thrust a cablegram into her trembling hands.

She had hardly strength to unfold the paper, but her pulses bounded with exultation as she read:

New York, Aug. 10, 18—.

"To Sir William Heath, London:

"Lady Heath left the ———- House on the 2d instant. Do not know her address.

Eldred Edlbridge."

Mr. Eldridge, as we know, was the proprietor of the hotel where Virgie had been boarding during her husband's absence, and we can imagine something of his consternation when he received Sir William's cable dispatch inquiring for his wife, and realized, all too late, the enormity of the insult he had offered to that lady.

Lady Linton, however, had hard work to conceal her joy over the contents of the message.

Virgie had been gone for more than a week, leaving no clew to her whereabouts, which was evidence enough that she believed the very worst of her husband, imagined herself a dishonored and deserted woman, and had doubtless buried herself in some remote corner where no one would be likely to discover her.

Lady Linton's plot had worked thus far beyond her most sanguine expectations and she accepted her success as an omen of good for the future.

But she hid all this under a mask of well-assumed surprise.

"What can it mean? Why should she leave the hotel where you left her?" she inquired of her brother.

"Oh, I do not know. There is something wrong—very mysterious—about it. Oh, why is there not a steamer ready to sail this instant? I believe I shall go mad with this delay!" cried the baronet, in an agony of fear and suspense.

But he had to wait until Saturday in spite of his suffering though he had not even gone from Heathdale two hours when Lady Linton received a letter bearing the United States postmark.

Of course it was from Mrs. Farnum, who gave a detailed account of all that had transpired regarding Virgie's sudden departure, and assuring her that no one in the hotel suspected her agency in the matter, or had any idea that she knew anything regarding the girl previous to her coming there. They did not even know that she was from England; she confided that fact to Virgie alone, simply to further her schemes regarding her.

Lady Linton uttered a sigh of relief over this letter. Her brother would not find his wife in New York, and his journey would be all in vain, she told herself, and yet she would not feel at ease until she had him safely at home again.

Sir William thought the voyage across the Atlantic would never end, and yet it was a very quick and prosperous passage. When the steamer touched her pier in New York he was the first of all the eager passengers to spring ashore, and rushing for a carriage, without even stopping to attend to his baggage, he gave orders to be driven directly to the hotel where he had left Virgie.

Mr. Eldridge quaked visibly and grew deadly pale when Sir William suddenly presented himself in his office and demanded of him the reason of his wife leaving his house.

The polite hotel-keeper's blandness all failed him for once, and, with much stammering and confusion, with many apologies and excuses, he confessed that there had arisen a rumor—how he could not say—to the effect that the lady was not Mrs. Heath at all, that her supposed husband was an English nobleman who had deceived her; that his patrons had insisted upon her leaving, or they would; and thus, after a hint from him as to how matters stood, she had quietly gone away.

Sir William was furious at this, and the landlord was actually frightened at the tempest his story had aroused.

"And you allowed such a malicious slander to drive a delicate and unprotected woman and her child homeless into the street?" cried the baronet, with sublime scorn.

"Ah, sir, I was helpless. The honor of my house must be sustained, and there was so much evidence to make the story appear true," said the man deprecatingly.

"Evidence! What do you mean?" demanded the angry husband.

"You had registered as 'Mr. Heath and lady.' I learned that you were an English baronet."

"Yes, but what of that? I simply wished to escape being conspicuous, and I had a right to register as I chose."

"Then there was a story that you had taken another wife in England, shortly after leaving America."

"And were you idiot enough to believe such a contemptible slander, when I brought her here and established her as my honored wife? Did I ever treat her with anything but reverence and respect?" thundered Sir William, growing more and more indignant.

"No, sir," confessed the unhappy proprietor, as he drew a paper from his desk; "but when you read a notice that I have here you may not wonder so much at the credulity of people; besides, there were no letters coming from you to the lady."

"No letters!" cried the baronet, in a startled tone.

"No, sir, although madam wrote to you with every steamer, and seemed sad and depressed to get nothing in return."

The baronet was astounded.

It all looked as if there was some treachery at work to ruin their happiness; but Sir William racked his brain in vain to solve the riddle.

He had received no letters from his wife; she had had none from him; and, with that dreadful scandal and rumor to crush her, to say nothing of having been driven from the shelter with which he had provided her, what must she not have suffered?

"Will you read this notice, sir?" Mr. Eldridge asked, pushing the paper nearer to the baronet, and desiring to intrench himself behind as many bulwarks as possible.

Sir William bent forward and read it, and he did not wonder then, that Virgie had felt herself the most wronged of women.

He knew that it had been intended as the announcement of his cousin's marriage with Margaret Stanhope, but a grave mistake had been made in prefixing the young man's name with a title, thus making it appear that it was the baronet who had been married.

Virgie did not know that he had a relative by the same name, so, of course, taking everything else into consideration, she must have believed that he had been false to all honor, to his manhood, and to her.

He groaned aloud.

"Oh, what must she have thought of me!" he cried, in despair. Then, turning to the proprietor of the hotel, he asked, "Where did you get this paper?"

It was the Hampshire County Journal, and he wondered how it could have got to New York to accomplish so much mischief.

"I cannot say, sir. I found it in my office here among other papers, and—and you must confess that such a notice as that was sufficient to stagger me when I read it."

"Yes," Sir William admitted, white to his lips, "and yet it was heartless to send her away. It was my cousin—a gentleman bearing the same name—who was married; but some one made a mistake and added my title. Did she see that notice?"

"She appeared to know about it, sir."

"It seems as if an enemy had done this to ruin our happiness; but who?" groaned the miserable husband.



Chapter XX.

Sir William Finds A Trace Of Virgie.



Sir William asked, a little later, when he had succeeded in somewhat recovering his composure:

"And have you no idea whither my wife went after leaving here?"

"No," Mr. Eldridge said. "I offered to find some nice, quiet place for her, but she simply thanked me and declined my offer. She then ordered a carriage and drove away, without giving any definite directions regarding her destination—at least, in my hearing."

The proprietor was careful not to state that he had been so relieved by the departure of his then questionable guest that he had taken no pains to ascertain her plans, being only too glad to be quit of her upon any terms, and to thus preserve the honor of his house and retain the patronage of its other occupants.

Sir William then repaired to the office of Dr. Knox, the physician in whose care he had left his wife, hoping to glean something from him. But that gentleman knew nothing whatever of what had occurred, and appeared greatly surprised by what the young husband told him.

He simply stated what we already knew—that Mrs. Heath had sent him a note saying that she was about leaving the city and wished to settle her bill, and requested him to call for the amount. He had done so, and she had paid him in full.

He said that his time was limited, and he had only remained a few moments. He thought she was looking rather pale and worn; but she said she was well, and, being calm and self-possessed, he did not imagine that she was in any trouble.

It was evident that from this source Sir William could gain nothing to aid him in his search for his wife.

He then tried to discover the nurse who had been with her, but she was not to be found at her usual address, and no one could tell him anything about her.

He went to the bank where he had deposited money for Virgie's use, but disappointment awaited him here also. He was told that she had sent word one morning that on a certain day she would need the whole amount due her. She had called according to her appointment, receiving her money, and that was all that was known there regarding her movements.

Sir William was in despair. Failure met him on every hand, and he feared the worst for his loved ones.

He remained in New York for more than a month, searching the city from end to end, employing detectives advertising in the papers, and using every means he could think of to gain some clew to Virgie's hiding-place; but all to no purpose; and he finally came to the conclusion that she must have left the metropolis. But whither had she gone? He knew that she had not a friend on this side of the Rocky Mountains; it was all a strange country to her.

Would she be likely to remain East and hide herself and her supposed shame in some obscure place, or would she wander back to the Pacific coast, where everything would be more familiar and home-like to her?

These questions agitated his mind continually, and for a while he knew not which way to turn, while he was growing both weary and heart-sick with his fruitless search.

Finally he decided that he would go again to her old home among the mountains of Nevada. He might possibly learn something of her there.

He reached the place just a year from the day of his departure with Virgie, and a feeling of utter desolation, almost of despair, took possession of him as he wandered here and there over the familiar ground visiting the grave of Mr. Abbot, and peering in at the cottage where he had first met his love, but where only strange faces now met his gaze.

Everything looked the same as when he left, but evidently no one knew anything about his wife; he learned that from the eager inquiries, which met him on every side, for the beautiful girl whom he had taken away with him.

He answered and evaded them as well as he could, without betraying that he was in any trouble, but he was deeply disappointed to find that Chi Lu had left the place.

He was told that he had left very suddenly, but came back after a time, when he disposed of his cabin that Sir William had given him, and then disappeared altogether.

The baronet sought out Margery Follet, and was impressed the moment that he saw her that she had something on her mind.

She eyed him with suspicion, seemed averse to holding any conversation with him, and never once inquired regarding his wife.

This alone made the young baronet hope that she knew something of Virgie, for, having been at her wedding, and afterward assisted her in many ways during Mr. Abbott's last illness, it would have been but natural for her to wish to know something about her.

By adroitly questioning her he became convinced of the truth of his suspicion, and finally he charged her outright with having recently seen his wife.

The woman stammered, blushed, and finally assumed a defiant attitude, and Sir William was sure.

He then told her something of his trouble, enjoining her to secrecy, and finally she confessed that one day Chi Lu had come to her and persuaded her to go with him before the county magistrate to sign a paper stating that she had been a witness to the marriage of Miss Abbot with Mr. Heath. Chi Lu had given her a handsome sum for her trouble and to keep silent about the matter afterward.

This confession gave Sir William great hope. It told him that Virgie had been in that vicinity; that she was gathering what proofs she could toward establishing the legality of her marriage, with a view to claiming her rights as a lawful wife.

He was very much elated over the discovery, and at once repaired to the county town, to seek out the magistrate and learn what he could from him.

That gentleman confirmed what he had already learned. He said that several weeks previous a young woman had come there to obtain a copy of the record of a certain marriage, and that afterward a Chinaman and an elderly woman had signed a paper in his presence, testifying to having been witnesses of the ceremony.

Sir William reasoned that, since Virgie was seeking all these proofs, she would doubtless apply to the clergyman who had married them; so to Virginia City he straightway hastened, to seek the Rev. Dr. Thornton.

He found him readily enough. The clergyman appeared to be in feeble health, and received him with coldness and evident displeasure.

"I suppose you are somewhat at a loss how to account for my visit, Dr. Thornton," he remarked, in his genial way, and ignoring the frigidness of his host's greeting; "but I have come to make some important inquiries of you."

The reverend gentleman simply bowed, and then waited for his guest to proceed.

"You will be surprised that I have lost my wife and am searching for her," the baronet continued, thinking it best to come to the point at once.

"Which one?" demanded the divine, with an accent of scorn in his usually mild tones.

"Sir!"

"For which wife are you searching?"

"I have but one wife—the lady to whom you married me only a little more than a year ago!" Sir William replied in a voice of thunder, his handsome face flaming with righteous anger, though his heart bounded with new hope at the question.

"I beg your pardon, sir," the clergyman replied, seeing at once that there was some mystery, and there must have been some fearful mistake to cause the separation of these two young people in whom he had been so deeply interested.

"You will understand my untimely sarcasm, perhaps," he went on, "when I tell you that I have been led to believe that you had done that beautiful woman the greatest possible wrong."

He then proceeded to explain all that he knew of the matter.

Mrs. Heath, he said, had come to him, about a month previous, to secure a written statement from him to the effect that he had performed the marriage ceremony in a legal and authorized manner between herself and Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, Hampshire County, England She was looking very sad and ill, and she confided to him that she had been deserted by her husband in New York; he having been called to his home by a cablegram, ostensibly because of his mother's illness, but that she had learned of his marriage with another lady in England, and she feared that his union with her might have been a farce. She had, however, learned to the contrary, and she was determined to gather all the proofs possible, for the purpose of securing the future rights and position of her child.

Sir William Heath listened in painful silence to this recital, and then in turn related all that he knew regarding the terrible misunderstanding and the mystery attending it.

"It looks to me very much as if there was a conspiracy in the matter, and a desire on the part of some one to separate you and your wife," Dr. Thornton remarked thoughtfully, when the young husband concluded.

"A conspiracy!" repeated Sir William.

"Yes; the fact that all letters, on both sides, have been intercepted, seems to point to such a suspicion. Have you any enemies who, from interested motives, would try to create trouble between you and your wife?"

"Not that I am aware of," the young man replied, but looking deeply perplexed. "My family, to be sure, were not very well pleased with the idea of my marrying an American; but I can think of no one person who could have accomplished anything like what has occurred. It seems to me that in order to intercept our letters there would need to be conspirators on both sides of the Atlantic who were interested in the project."

"Not necessarily. Any one determined to separate you might have robbed the mail of all letters at either end of the route. It is certainly very mysterious, and, mark my words, you will some day learn that an enemy has been at work. But, Sir William," the clergyman continued smiling genially, "you have relieved my mind and established my faith in you by this explanation. I confess I had set you down as a miserable scamp, and I have suffered a good deal on that beautiful young woman's account."

"I cannot blame you for thinking the very worst of me," returned Sir William, with emotion; "but I have loved—I do love my wife with a love that can never die."

"I do not doubt it now. Of course I gave her the paper she desired, and also a copy of the certificate which I presented you on your marriage day, and told her to command me at any time and I should be at her service to testify to the legality of her claims upon you."

"Thank you, sir. I am truly grateful to you for your kindness to my poor darling," said the baronet, tears springing to his eyes. "But can you give me any idea regarding her plans or movements?"

"No, I cannot, I am sorry to say," returned Doctor Thornton. "I asked her what course she intended to pursue, and she said, in the saddest voice I ever heard, 'I do not exactly know yet; I simply desire to establish the rightful claim of my daughter as the heiress of Heathdale.'"

"That looks as if she meant to go immediately to England!" cried Sir William, starting excitedly to his feet. "If she should do that, all would be well—everything will be explained, and we shall be happy once more."

"I cannot say that such was her plan," returned the clergyman, thoughtfully. "She looked scarcely able to endure such a journey. Still, it may be that such was her intention."

"Oh, if I only knew! Just think, sir, I have never even seen my child!" cried Sir William, greatly agitated.

"It is certainly very sad. It is greatly to be regretted that you were recalled to England as you were," said Doctor Thornton.

"Indeed it is. Why did I ever leave her? It was wrong! I fear I was negligent of my duty toward her in so doing. I do not know what to do now. If she has gone to England, we have passed each other, and I would desire to retrace my steps thither at once. If she is still here on this continent, I should be in despair to go home, and only find it out on the other side of the ocean."

Doctor Thornton pitied the young husband sincerely.

"You are in a very trying position, I must acknowledge, and I do not like to advise you either to go or stay. You might wait here a while, and notify your friends to cable you in case Lady Heath should go direct to England; then it would be comparatively easy to join her there."

Sir William determined to act upon these suggestions. He would cable Heathdale to be notified if Virgie should make her appearance there; meantime he would do his utmost to find her here.

He thanked the clergyman for his kindness, and bade him farewell, feeling much relieved regarding his wife, yet still very sad at heart at the mystery surrounding her.

He determined to search for Chi Lu, believing that he alone, who had always been so devoted to her, could tell him something definite as to her movements. He had an idea that he might be even now in her service.



Chapter XXI.

Nothing but Death Shall Break the Tie.



Sir William went directly back to New York, fired with something of hope by Doctor Thornton's suggestions He determined to search the passenger lists of the different steamer lines, hoping to find Virgie's name among them.

He half believed that, armed with the strong proofs she had secured to substantiate the legality of her marriage, she would go directly to England to assert her position there as his wife.

He realized that underneath her habitual quiet and sweetness there lay a dignity and strength of character that would stop at nothing legitimate to remove the stigma she believed was resting on her fair name.

But while he gave her ample credit for resolution and energy, he did not make allowance for the sensitive pride which had been crushed to the earth by the cruel blow which had been dealt her. He did not stop to consider that it would never allow her to force herself upon him as an unloved and rejected wife when she believed a more fortunate rival stood in her way.

But he found nothing in any of the booking offices of the different steamers to tell him that Virgie had sailed, or was intending to sail, even though he haunted them daily for three or four weeks.

Almost discouraged at the end of that time, he cabled to his sister the following message:

"I have missed my wife—perhaps crossed her path. If she arrives at Heathdale, let me know at once."

Lady Linton was somewhat startled upon receiving this message, for it told her that her brother had some reason for thinking that Virgie might be on her way to Heathdale, and, remembering Mrs. Farnum's account of her threats to claim her position, she began to fear that she had underrated the girl's spirit, and that she might make her appearance at any moment and demand to be received as the mistress of the house.

This, of course, would make matters rather complicated and awkward; but, as long as her brother was not at home, she trusted to her own craft to deal with her and make her only too glad to give Heathdale a wide berth should she show herself there.

After cabling, Sir William went again to the Pacific coast, in the hope of finding Chi Lu. He spent several weeks in San Francisco, thinking perhaps those he sought might hope to lose themselves there among the multitude.

He thought right for once, had he but known it, and had he possessed a little more patience, been a trifle less restless and feverish in his search, he might have succeeded in his quest.

But he was so wretched; so worn and discouraged with his constant and fruitless seeking, that he could not remain in one place long at a time, and so wandered here and there, until, months having elapsed, he had been in nearly every State in the Union, reaping only disappointment and anguish of spirit.

Then there came again a summons for him to go home—his mother had been stricken with another shock, and, with a heavy heart, a feeling as if all the world were against him and his whole life ruined, he went back to his desolate home and the sick one there.

Lady Heath only lived a few days after the second return of her son. He reached Heathdale just in season to see the sands of her life run out and to close her eyes in their last long sleep; then they laid her in the family vault, and Sir William felt as if he had nothing now to bind him to his home.

"I cannot stay here—I must go away again he said one day, in despair, to his sister, and her heart sank at his words.

"Well, I hope you are not going to America again, whatever you do," she remarked, with some unpatience.

"If going to America would result in finding my wife, I would go a thousand times over," Sir William responded, sternly, and then added, with a note of agony in his voice: "Oh, where can my darling have hidden herself? Miriam," turning suddenly upon his sister, "can you suggest any reason for this terrible misunderstanding?—who could have intercepted all of our letters?—who could have conspired, for it seems like a conspiracy, to separate us?"

For a moment Lady Linton turned faint and sick with the fear that he had discovered something to arouse his suspicions against her; but second thought told her that such could not be the case.

"What could I suggest?" she demanded, assuming an expression of surprise. "You forget that I know nothing of this woman who lured your heart from us, save what I have been told. She may have had a rustic lover who is seeking his revenge by trying to separate you—a lover who has poisoned her mind against you, and perhaps won her allegiance back to himself."

"What utter nonsense you are talking, Miriam!" the baronet interrupted, indignantly. "How little you appreciate the refinement of the girl whom I have married! True, you have never seen her; but one look at the face that I have shown you ought to have told you that she could have been won by no rustic."

Lady Linton shrugged her shoulders expressively.

"As for your letters," she said, flashing a swift, keen glance at him, "if you think they have been tampered with on this side of the Atlantic, I advise you to question Robert, since he has the exclusive charge of your mail-bag."

"Robert, indeed! I would as soon question my own honesty as his; besides, no one has a key to it but myself," Sir William asserted, confidently.

Lady Linton breathed freely now, for it was evident that he had no suspicion of her.

"True; and Robert has been faithful too many years to be lightly suspected," she remarked, appreciatively.

"But this suspense is insupportable! It is killing me!" cried her brother, rising, and excitedly pacing the floor.

"No doubt it is trying," his sister replied, coldly.

"Trying!" he repeated, bitterly; "you are very sympathetic, Miriam; you are as cold as ice."

"Well, William, you know well enough that I never approved of your marriage. It was a great blow to both mamma and me that you should marry so out of your element; and therefore you cannot expect me to be so heart-broken over the mysterious disappearance of your wife as I might have been if you married—Sadie, for instance."

"I wish you wouldn't throw Sadie Farnum at me upon every occasion; I never had any intention of marrying her," retorted Sir William, with an angry flush.