“No, Margaret. Lady Annesley is naturally upset by her recent bereavement, and the bustle of busy London is too much for her. I purpose going away to-night, maid or no maid, and you must not take this sudden decision unkindly.” “My dear cousin! how can you speak so? I am here for your pleasure alone,” Miss Nugent said. “I believe you, Margaret,” replied Sir Harold. “And now I will leave you two together while I hunt up Stimson and give him imperative orders. I shall probably go for a last stroll also.” He kissed Theresa tenderly, and Margaret saw the action with jealous anger. “He is very fond of you, Theresa,” she observed, when her cousin was gone; “but you must not be too exacting; he is already sacrificing so much for you. I suppose that it is your wish to fly from London because of Lady Elaine Seabright, and I am pleased that you think so well of my advice.” “I do not care to discuss the matter,” Lady Annesley said, coldly. “In all things I wish to please my husband.” “You do not like me, my lady,” was Margaret’s next shaft. “I know that you do not like me. Why is it?” “Because you are not my friend. A woman’s instincts rarely err!” Theresa replied. “I like your candor,” Margaret laughed, a little bitterly, “but it is a poor return for my efforts to warn you against the shipwreck of this love of yours. You profess to love my cousin, but it is a selfish love. It is this which makes me doubt you.” “You speak in riddles, Miss Nugent,” Theresa said, angrily. “I would willingly lay down my life for my husband. My love is richer than pearls or rubies. For his sake I would willingly walk barefooted through life. I would even renounce my hopes of heaven!” “It sounds very nice, truly,” was the sneering rejoinder; “and yet because of you he carries his life in his hand. Do you wonder that I do not fall into raptures over such a sacrifice? Blood is thicker than water, Lady Annesley. You affect not to understand me, when you must well know that you and yours for all time are the victims of a secret vendetta. Your countrymen know how to hate and to stab in the dark. Your father stole another man’s bride, and the shadow of the knife for this act killed your mother. In fear Mr. Hamilton buried himself in the country to escape the fate that was sure to follow sooner or later. The executive of the vendetta visited him the night he died!” “No--no!” gasped Theresa, terrified beyond mere words. “Why will you seek to deceive yourself?” continued Miss Nugent, vindictively. “You know that it is true--you also know that Sir Harold, as your husband, is a marked man. He may be stabbed to death at any moment. Do you think that I, his cousin, can love you, knowing the ban that his alliance with you has placed upon him? We English do not understand these things. It is revolting.” Lady Annesley was lying back, deathly white. It seemed that all the beauty of the early September morning had suddenly been enveloped by a black ball.