silently wrung his hand and went away, thanking heaven more fervently
than ever that no cursed coquette of a woman had it in her power to
break his heart.

While this scene was going on above, another was taking place in the
library. Treherne sat there alone, thinking happy thoughts evidently,
for his eyes shone and his lips smiled as he mused, while watching the
splendors of a winter sunset. A soft rustle and the faint scent of
violets warned him of Mrs. Snowdon's approach, and a sudden foreboding
told him that danger was near. The instant he saw her face his fear
was confirmed, for exultation, resolve, and love met and mingled in
the expression it wore. Leaning in the window recess, where the red
light shone full on her lovely face and queenly figure, she said,
softly yet with a ruthless accent below the softness, "Dreaming
dreams, Maurice, which will never come to pass, unless I will it. I
know your secret, and I shall use it to prevent the fulfillment of the
foolish hope you cherish."

"Who told you?" he demanded, with an almost fierce flash of the eye and
an angry flush.

"I discovered it, as I warned you I should. My memory is good, I recall
the gossip of long ago, I observe the faces, words, and acts of those
whom I suspect, and unconscious hints from them give me the truth."

"I doubt it," and Treherne smiled securely.

She stooped and whispered one short sentence into his ear. Whatever it
was it caused him to start up with a pale, panic-stricken face, and eye
her as if she had pronounced his doom.