She had loved Juan Catheron then. What if she loved him still? She had
hidden it from him, until it could be hidden no longer--she had
deceived him in the past, she was deceiving him in the present. So
fair and so false, so innocent to all outward seeming. Yet so lost to
all truth and honor.

He turned sick and giddy; he leaned against a tree, feeling as though
he could never look upon her false face again. Yet the next moment he
started passionately up.

"I will go to her," he thought; "I will hear what she has to say. If
she voluntarily tells me, I must, I will believe her. If she is silent,
I will take it as proof of her guilt."

He strode away to the house. As he entered, his man Edwards met him,
and presented him a note.

"Brought by a groom from Powyss Place, Sir Victor," he said. "Squire
Powyss has had a stroke."

The baronet tore it open--it was an impetuous summons from Lady Helena.

"The squire has had an attack of apoplexy. For Heaven's sake come at
once."

He crushed it in his hand, and went into the dining-room. His wife was
not there. He turned to the nursery; he was pretty sure of always
finding her _there_.

She was there, bending over her baby, looking fair and sweet as the