"I have forgotten it," said Lord Dudley. "Forgetting names is a weakness of mine. Yet I remember that Templeton called her by her Christian name--a very soft and sweet one. Let me see--_Laura_, perhaps." Xenie sat silent and thoughtful. There was a strange pain at her heart. She could not understand it. "It cannot be that I am sorry he is living," she said to herself. "My triumph is greater than if he were dead. He knows that I have my sweet revenge. It was never sweet until I knew him living to feel its pangs! For all his haughty bearing it must be that he feels it in all its bitterness." Then a sudden irrelevant thought flashed across these self-congratulations. "I wonder who that Laura can be? Is he in love with her?" It was the most natural thought in the world for a woman; yet she put it away from her with a sort of angry impatience. "What if he does love her?" she thought, scornfully, "He cannot marry her. He is a beggar. I have stripped him of everything. She will leave him for lack of gold, as he left me. Then he may feel something of what I suffered through his sin!" And she felt gladder than ever before at the thought of Howard Templeton's poverty. She knew that he could not marry the girl for whom he said he would have lost his own life--that beautiful, mysterious _Laura_. Mrs. Egerton was passing and she called her. "I am going home," she said. "I have danced too much. I am tired, and the rooms are suffocating." "A multiplicity of excuses," laughed Lord Dudley. "Ossa upon Pelion piled. Mrs. St. John, you will not be so cruel?" "I must; my head aches," she replied; and though he pleaded and Mrs. Egerton protested, she was obstinate. Mrs. Egerton saw her depart, feeling sorely vexed with her. Howard Templeton saw her leaving, and crossed the room to her. "I shall do myself the pleasure of calling upon you to-morrow," he said, quietly, as he lightly touched her hand. They had to wear a mask, these two deadly foes, before the curious eyes of the world. She flashed a sudden, haughty look of inquiry into his steadfast eyes. He stooped over her quickly. "Yes," he whispered, hurriedly and lowly; "it is _vendetta_ still. War to the knife!" Then Lord Dudley, full of regrets, attended her to her carriage. CHAPTER XXIII. "Xenie, is that you? Are you just home from the ball?" Mrs. Carroll turned sleepily on her pillow and looked at the little figure that came gliding in, looking ghost-like in the pale glimmer of the night-lamp in its trailing white robes and unbound hair. "Yes, mamma, it is I. But I have been home several hours from the ball." "And not asleep yet, dear?" said Mrs. Carroll, in mild surprise. "No; I am so restless I cannot sleep. I am sorry I had to disturb you, mamma, but I came to ask you to give me some simple sleeping potion." "Certainly, love; but wouldn't it be wiser to try and sleep without it? Did you try counting backward?"