She resolved from that moment to watch him, and to find out for herself that which he refused to tell her. She could not bring herself to believe that there was really anything between her husband and Madame Vanira; he had always been so good, so devoted to herself. But the result of her watching was bad; it showed that her husband had other interests; much of his time was spent from home; a cloud came between them; when she saw him leaving home she was too proud to ask him where he was going, and if even by chance she did ask, his reply was never a conciliatory one. It was quite by accident she learned he went often to Highgate. In the stables were a fine pair of grays; she liked using them better than any other horses they had, and one morning the carriage came to the door with a pair of chestnuts she particularly disliked. "Where are the grays?" she asked of the coachman. "One of them fell yesterday, my lady," said the man, touching his hat. "Fell--where?" asked Lady Chandos. "Coming down Highgate Hill, my lady. It is a terrible hill--so steep and awkward," replied the man. Then she would have thought nothing of it but for a sudden look of warning she saw flash from the groom to the coachman, from which she shrewdly guessed that they had been told to be silent about the visits to Highgate. Then she remembered that Madame Vanira lived there. She remembered how she had spoken of the hills, of the fresh air, and the distance from town; she watched again and found out that her husband went to Highgate nearly every day of his life, and then Lady Chandos drew her own conclusions and very miserable ones they were. The cloud between them deepened--deepened daily; all her loving amiability, her gentle, caressing manner vanished; she became silent, watchful, suspicious; no passion deteriorates the human mind or the human heart more quickly than jealousy. If, during those watchful days, Lord Chandos had once told his wife the plain truth, she would have forgiven him, have taken him from the scene of his danger, and all might have gone well; as it was, all went wrong. One day a sense of regret for her lost happiness came over her, and she determined to speak to him about it. She would destroy this shadow that lay between them; she would dispel the cloud. Surely he would do anything for her sake--she would have given up the world for him. He was alone in his study, in the gloaming of a bright day, when she went in to him and stood once more by his side. "Lance," she said, bending her fair, sweet face over his, "Lance, I want to speak to you again. I am not happy, dear--there is a cloud between us, and it is killing me. You love me, Lance, do you not?" "You know that I do," he said, but there was no heartiness in his voice. "I want to tell you, dear, that I have been jealous. I am very unhappy, but I will conquer myself. I will be to you the most loving wife in all the world if you will give up Madame Vanira."