“Is this true?” she whispered, hoarsely. “Yes, my heart tells me that it is true!” “Do you mean to say that it is news to you?” demanded Margaret, with well-assumed astonishment. “Oh, Theresa, if it is so, you must not tell Sir Harold, or he will never forgive me. Promise that you will not tell him!” “Swear that you have not lied to me, and I promise,” Theresa said. “Before Heaven, every word is truth, and I could cut out my tongue for having spoken it. Sir Harold himself destroyed the written warning from the executive which threatened his own life. Oh, Lady Annesley, I shall never forgive myself for what I have done!” “Leave me, Margaret Nugent. I never wish to look upon your face again. I hate you!” Theresa rose, with heaving bosom and flashing eyes. “Go,” she continued, pointing to the door. “Upon that condition only will I keep silence. You have this day dealt me a blow that will be my death!” Half-frightened, Miss Nugent left the room, and an hour later she quitted the hotel, leaving as an excuse the following, addressed to Sir Harold: DEAR HAROLD--An urgent telegram from mamma, who is an invalid, obliges me to run down to Ashbourne at once. Let me know of your movements, and always count upon my help if you need it. I have said good-by to Theresa. Your affectionate cousin, MARGARET NUGENT. In the meanwhile, Annesley had given his orders to Stimson, and gone to Coutts’ Bank to transact some financial business on behalf of Colonel Greyson, from whom he had received various drafts and letters of credit. While standing at the counter, a gentleman had placed his hand familiarly upon his shoulder and ejaculated: “Great heavens! Is that you, Sir Harold?” “You really have the advantage of me, sir,” replied the baronet, with a cold stare. “Come, come; this will not do,” the stranger continued. “You may wish to hide your identity from most people, but when you try that on with your lawyer and man of business, I think that it is time to draw the line! To refresh your memory, Sir Harold,” a little sarcastically, “my name is Babbet, of the firm of Babbet & Co., and as you have not removed the management of your affairs from our hands, I naturally suppose that you continue to have confidence in us. Of course, we are in communication with Colonel Greyson.” Sir Harold suddenly put his hands to his head, and reeled like a drunken man. His face turned deathly white. “Ah, I recognize you, Babbet!” he gasped, “but the effort was awful. I have been ill, you know. Let me have fresh air.” The lawyer led him to the door, much concerned, and walked with him toward Charing Cross. “You will see me again before leaving London?” he said. “Yes, I will endeavor to do so,” was the reply. “Are you sure that you are able to proceed alone?” “Quite,” said Sir Harold. “My hotel is near.”