Thus adjured, Lora hushed her sobs by a great effort, and lay perfectly still but for the uncontrollable heaving of her troubled breast, her large, hollow, dark eyes fixed earnestly on Xenie's pale and lovely face. Mrs. Carroll crouched down in a chair by the side of the bed, the image of hopeless woe. "Lora, dear," said her sister, in low, earnest tones, "of course you know that, if this dreadful thing becomes known, the disgrace will be reflected upon us all." Mrs. Carroll groaned, and Lora murmured a pitiful yes. "I have thought of a plan to save you," continued Mrs. St. John. "A clever plan that would shield your fair fame forever. But it will require some co-operation on your part, and it may be that you and mamma may refuse for you to undertake it." "You may count on my consent beforehand!" groaned Mrs. Carroll, desperately. "I will do whatever mamma says," murmured Lora, weakly. Mrs. St. John looked away from them a moment in silent thought; then she said, slowly: "Of course, you know, mamma, that my husband died without a will, and that Howard Templeton inherited the greater part of his wealth?" "Yes; you wrote me. I was very sorry that you were disappointed, dear," said her mother, gently, yet wondering what this had to do with Lora's forlorn case. "Mamma," said Xenie, slowly, "if my husband had left me as Lora's left her, I could have kept that fortune out of Howard Templeton's hands." "My dear, I hardly understand you," said her mother, blankly. "Mamma, I mean that if I could hope for an heir to my husband, the child would inherit all that wealth, and Howard Templeton be left penniless." "Oh, yes, I understand you now," was the quick reply, "but you have no prospect, no hope of such a thing--have you, dear?" There was a moment's silence, and Mrs. St. John's fair face grew scarlet, then deadly white again. She looked away from her mother, and said, slowly: "Yes, mamma, I have such a hope. Listen to me, you and Lora, and I will help you in your trouble, and you shall help me to complete my revenge." CHAPTER VIII. Some three or four weeks after Mrs. St. John's visit to the country, Howard Templeton was sitting in his club one day, smoking and reading, after a most luxurious lunch. The young fellow looked very comfortable as he leaned back in his cushioned chair, the blue smoke curling in airy rings over his curly, blonde head, a look of lazy contentment in his handsome blue eyes. He was somewhat of a Sybarite in his tastes, this handsome young fellow, over whose head twenty-five happy years had rolled serenely, without a shadow to mar their brightness save that unfortunate love affair two years before. Howard was, emphatically, one of the "gilded youth" of his day. He "toiled not, neither did he spin." He had been cradled in luxury's silken lap all his life long. Sorrow had passed him tenderly by as one exempt from the common ills of life.