He said good-by to Lady Elaine, and he believed that it was forever; then he went away, and was driven rapidly to Euston. From Euston he was whirled to Tenterden, and then walked through the old, familiar ways to the cottage embowered in trees and flowers. “My little Theresa,” he thought, “I wonder if she is waiting for me? Oh, how kind I will be to the sensitive, loving child, and may Heaven punish me if I ever neglect my duty to my wife in thought, word or deed.” He turned in at the gate, and in fancy saw Theresa’s face peeping at him round the porch. Then he shivered, for all was still, with a silence that spoke of death. He placed his thumb on the latch of the cottage door, and when it opened he was met by Margaret Nugent. In loathing he turned away, saying: “Where is she--where is Theresa?” She pointed solemnly upstairs, and he bounded up the steps two at a time, as though madness was in his veins. “Theresa! Theresa!” he cried, “I am here!” He stepped into the bedroom, and saw her before him in the sweet dream of death--her hands folded over her breast, and beside her a huge bunch of the flowers that she had loved so well. He kissed the dead face, that even now seemed to smile up at him; he shed bitter tears, for he knew that poor Theresa had died for love of him! They had found her that morning in the old summer arbor--cold and still. Her heart was broken. * * * * * Immediately after his wife’s funeral Sir Harold went abroad. The sympathy of his friends was as distasteful to him as the slanderous gossip of the careless and vicious. Never before within the memory of mortal man had the county been in such a turmoil! Following the viscount’s suicide, Lady Gaynor had vanished like a shadow, leaving her servants and debts behind her. The parting between Lady Elaine and Sir Harold was one that was never forgotten by either. With the concurrence of Mr. Worboys, she had made her home with a widowed sister of Colonel Greyson in a lovely little place among the hills and vales of lovely Kent. “I will never lose sight of him, Elaine,” the colonel said, “and the future may yet be filled with golden promise!” * * * * * A year passed and the wanderer returned, and soon after there was a quiet wedding from the house of Colonel Greyson’s sister. The guests did not number more than a dozen. There was no ostentation--no display--but their way from the church was strewn with flowers, and the bells throbbed with melody. They went direct to Annesley Park--Sir Harold and Elaine--to the quiet enjoyment of their own home. Their parting had been so long and so bitter that every hour now was too precious to be lost.