gentleman had called before this disaster, and had taken Lady Emily and
Lady Margaret away.

Bitterly disappointed, Henry made his way to Paris, where he found the
city in the throes of a civil war. Becoming unintentionally mixed up in
a petty skirmish between the court party and the Frondes, he was badly
wounded, and narrowly escaped hanging as an enemy of the Frondeurs.

Meanwhile, Frank Masterton, or Lord Masterton as he now was, was living
what he had fondly imagined would be the ideal life with the girl he
loved; but already he found it an illusion. His loss of honour, his
consciousness that his conduct was discreditable, plunged him into
bitter fits of remorse, from which he vainly sought relief by a round of
gaiety. Lady Eleanor saw these signs with terror and despair. Though she
had accomplished her desire, her life was unbearable; daily she grew
more miserable. At last she determined to end her earthly sufferings. In
her chamber she swallowed the fatal dose of poison with which, against
such a day, she had provided herself.

As she lay in the throes of death it chanced that Henry Masterton
arrived, having at length found his brother's place of residence. Henry
at once did everything possible to save Lady Eleanor's life, but, seeing
that the dark shadow deepened every moment, he hastened to fetch a
priest.

In the street he came upon the Benedictine, talking to Walter Dixon, and
bidding him follow, led him to the bedside of Lady Eleanor, and left him
alone with the dying woman.

Bending over her, the monk solemnly asked her if she had anything on her