Annesley was bitterly annoyed, but the matter could not be helped, of course. Unfortunately, he met one or two people who detained him, and when he reached his hotel it was half-an-hour past noon. He ran upstairs, and was met in the anteroom by Stimson. “I was just wondering, Sir Harold, what was best to be done,” he said, “as I did not know what to order for lunch. I never did feel at home in a hotel.” “Why did you not consult Lady Annesley?” demanded Sir Harold, pettishly, and Stimson stared. “Her ladyship followed you out, master,” he said, a sense of impending evil suddenly coming over him. “Followed me! Nonsense, man! You must be dreaming!” cried the baronet. “No, Sir Harold! I gave her ladyship your message, and she just had one cup of tea in her private sitting-room; then she came out, fully dressed, and told me that she was going out.” Sir Harold was bewildered. Still, why should not Theresa go for a walk if she felt inclined? He stared blankly at his valet for a few moments; then he turned suddenly, and walked into his wife’s apartments, thinking: “She may have left some written message for me.” In this conjecture he was right; a sealed envelope, addressed to him in Theresa’s handwriting, lay on the table before him. Snatching it up, he tore open the envelope, took out the letter it contained, and read as follows: My darling--my beloved--I am going away from you forever--away into the unknown shadow land, where I shall be no bar to your happiness in this world. I have loved you--and shall ever love you, as no other woman can love--so much that it is infinite misery to me to know that I am not all in all to you. I am the bar between you and Lady Elaine; I am even the unhappy fate that causes my king to be menaced by a cruel death! At last, Harold, my darling, my beloved, it is ended, but my spirit will be with you. Good-by. Your unhappy THERESA. CHAPTER XXVI. THE DUKE’S ULTIMATUM. Viscount Rivington was placed in a terrible dilemma. The morning after his call upon Annesley he received two letters at his club--one from Lady Gaynor, and one from his uncle, the Duke of Rothwell. The first one ran in this way: DEAR VISCOUNT--In answer to your telegram, I must say that it would be most indiscreet of me to put my head in the lion’s mouth, as it were. I quite understand your meaning; your plans have failed, as I predicted, and now you wish to try mine. There is safety only at the Lodge, and if you will come immediately matters may be discussed with some hope of success. I greatly deprecate the waste of valuable time, as things are really growing desperate with me. Faithfully yours, ELEANOR GAYNOR. The Duke of Rothwell’s letter was as follows: