"Yes; I refused to do anything of the kind," he replied; "why should I, Leone? They parted us once by stratagem, by intrigue, by working on all that was weakest in my character; now we are but friends, simply honest friends; who shall part us?" She clasped his hand for an instant in her own. "So you will not give me up again, Lance?" she said. "No, I will die first, Leone. There is one thing more I have to say. I said that I would go to Berlin, and I have asked my wife to go with me; she has refused, and I have said that I would go alone. Tell me what you think?" "I cannot--I think nothing; perhaps--oh, Heaven help me!--perhaps as your wife has told you she will not go with you, your duty is to stay with her." "My duty," he repeated; "who shall say what a man's duty is? Do you think I have no duty toward you?" "Your first thought should be--must be--your wife. If she would have countenanced our friendship, it would have been our greatest pride and pleasure; if she opposes it, we must yield. She has the first right to your time. After all, Lance, what can it matter? We shall have to part; what can it matter whether it is now or in three months to come? The more we see of each other the harder it will be." A flush as of fire came over his face. "Why must we part?" he cried. "Oh, Heaven, what a price I pay for my folly!" "Here is Highgate Hill," said Leone; "you go no further, Lord Chandos." Only the silent stars were looking on; he stood for a few minutes at the carriage door. "Shall I go to Berlin?" he whispered, as he left her, and her answer was a low, sad: "Yes." CHAPTER LVI. AN APPROACHING TEMPEST. The Countess of Lanswell was in despair. Any little social difficulty, the exposing of an adventuress, the setting aside of a marriage, intrigues, or a royal invitation, "dropping" people when it was convenient to do so, and courting them when she required them, to all and each of these deeds she was quite equal; but a serious case of cruel jealousy, a heart-broken, desolate wife on the one hand, an obstinate husband on the other, was past her power of management. Lady Chandos had written to ask her to come to Stoneland House that day. "I have something of the greatest importance to say to you," she wrote. "Do not delay; to-morrow may be too late." Lady Lanswell received this urgent note just as she was sipping her chocolate, luxuriously robed in a dressing-gown of silk and softest velvet, a pretty morning-cap of finest Mechlin lace on her head. Her handsome, haughty face grew pale as she read it.