Long after the stars had set, and the crimson flush of dawn stirred the pearly tints of the sky, she lay, sobbing, with passionate tears, feeling that she could not bear it--she must die. It would have been well if that had frightened her, but when morning dawned she said to herself that hers had always been a mad love, and would be so until the end. She made one desperate resolve, one desperate effort; she wrote to Lord Chandos, and sent the letter to his club--a little, pathetic note, with a heart-break in every line of it--to say that they who had been wedded lovers were foolish to think of being friends; that it was not possible, and that she thought they had better part; the pain was too great for her, she could not bear it. The letter was blotted with tears, and as he read it for whom it was written, other tears fell on it. Before two hours had passed, he was standing before her, with outstretched hands, the ring of passion in his voice, the fire of passion in his face. "Leone," he said, "do you mean this--must we part?" They forgot in that moment all the restraints by which they had surrounded themselves; once more they were Lance and Leone, as in the old days. "Must we part?" he repeated, and her face paled as she raised it to his. "I cannot bear the pain, Lance," she said, wearily. "It would be better for us never to meet than for me to suffer as I did last evening." He drew nearer to her. "Did you suffer so much, Leone?" he asked, gently. "Yes, more almost than I can bear. It is not many years since I believed that I was your wife, and now I have to see another woman in my place. I--I saw you kiss her--I had to go away and leave you together. No, I cannot bear it, Lance!" The beautiful head drooped wearily, the beautiful voice trembled and died away in a wail that was pitiful to hear; all her beauty, her genius, her talent--what did it avail her? Lord Chandos had suffered much, but his pain had never been so keen as now at this moment, when this beautiful queenly woman wailed out her sorrow to him. "What shall I do, Leone? I would give my life to undo what I have done; but it is useless--I cannot. Do you mean that we must part?" The eyes she raised to his face were haggard and weary with pain. "There is nothing for it but parting, Lance," she said. "I thought we could be friends, but it is not possible; we have loved each other too well." "We need not part now," he said; "let us think it over; life is very long; it will be hard to live without the sunlight of your presence, Leone, now that I have lived in it so long. Let us think it over. Do you know what I wanted to ask you last evening?" "No," she replied, "what was it?"