"You have not much to say to me to-night, Lance," said Lady Marion, in a tone of gentle expostulation. "I wonder if that beautiful singer was really looking at you. It seemed to me that the moment her eyes caught yours she faltered and almost failed." Lord Chandos roused himself. "Give me a woman's fancy," he said; "it is boundless as the deep sea." "I think a beautiful singer is like a siren," continued Lady Chandos, "she wins all hearts." He laughed again, a tired, indifferent, reckless laugh. "I thought we had agreed that you had won mine, Marion," he said, "and, if that be true, it cannot be won again." She was silent for a few minutes, then she continued: "Which do you really admire most, Lance, blonde or brunette, tell me?" "A strange question to ask a man who was fortunate enough to win the queen of blondes for his wife," he replied. He would have paid her any compliment--said anything to please her--if she would only have given him time to think. They were driving home together, but he felt it was impossible to remain under any roof until he had learned whether Leone and La Vanira were the same. If his dear, good, amiable wife would but give him time to think. He could hear the sound of the mill-wheel, he could hear the ripple of the waters, the words of the song: "In sheltered vale a mill-wheel Still sings its busy lay. My darling once did dwell there, But now she's gone away." The stars were shining as they shone when he sat by the mill-stream, with that beautiful head on his heart. He shuddered as he remembered her forebodings. Lady Chandos took his hand anxiously in hers. "My dearest Lance, I am quite sure you are not well, I saw you shudder as though you were cold, and yet your hands are burning hot. What is it you say about going to your club? Nothing of the kind, my darling. You must have some white wine whey; you have taken cold. No; pray do not laugh, Lance, prevention is better than cure." She had exactly her own way, as those very quiet, amiable wives generally have. He did not go to his club, but he sat by his dressing-room fire, and drank white wine whey. He had the satisfaction of hearing his wife say that he was the best husband in the world; then he fell asleep, to dream of the mill-stream and the song. It grew upon him--he must know if that was Leone. Of course, he said to himself, he did not wish to renew his acquaintance with her--he would never dare, after his cruel treatment of her, even to address one word to her; but he should be quite content if he could know whether this was Leone or not. If he could know that he would be happy, his sorrow and remorse would be lessened.