He bent above her gravely. "His wife. The wife he had cruelly
wronged--his wife, who escaped at last from an asylum. She is quite
mad--now. She is in our hands, and to-night, at eleven o'clock, the
district attorney will be at my house to see her and have the evidence
laid before him--to save Teddy," he added quickly.

She looked at him wildly. "His wife--the wife that I--"

He took her hand quickly. He feared to hear the words that he knew she
was about to say.

"Yes," he nodded. "Yes--she killed him."

Mrs. Marteen sank slowly back upon her pillows and lay with closed eyes.
A heavy pulse beat in the arteries at her throat, and a scarlet spot
burned on either cheek.

"Nemesis," she murmured. "Nemesis." She lay still for a moment. "Thank
God!" she said at length, and let her hands fall relaxed upon the
counterpane. She seemed as if asleep but for the quick intake of her
breath.

Gard gazed upon her with infinite tenderness, yet with sudden bitter
consciousness of the isolation of each individual soul. She was remote,
withdrawn. Even his eager sympathy could not reach the depths of her
self-tortured heart. But now at last he knew her, a completed being. The
soul was there, palpitant, awake. The something he had so sorely missed
was the living and real presence of spirit. It came over him in a wave
of realization that he, too, had been unconscious of his own higher self