Let Mr.
Parmalee come to me there." A gleam of diabolical triumph lighted up the great black eyes of Sybilla, but the profound bow she made concealed it.
"I will tell him, my lady," she said, "and he will be there without fail." She quitted the room, closed the door, and looked back at it as Satan may have looked back at Eden after vanquishing Eve.
"My triumph begins," she said to herself.

"I have caught you nicely this time, my lady.

You and Mr.Parmalee will not be alone in the Beech Walk to-night." Left to herself, Harriet stood for a moment motionless.
"She, too," she murmured, "my arch-enemy! Oh, my God, help me to bear it--help me to keep the horrible truth from the husband I love! She will not tell him.

She knows he would never endure her from the hour she would make the revelation; and that thought alone restrains her.
It will kill me--this agonizing fear and horror! And better so--better to die now, while he loves me, than live to be loathed when he discovers the truth!" Sir Everard Kingsland, riding home in the yellow, wintery sunset, found my lady lying on a lounge in her boudoir, her maid beside her, bathing her forehead with eau-de-Cologne.
"Headache again, Harrie ?" he said.

"You are growing a complete martyr to that feminine malady of late.