“Hush, Stimson! Not another word! I rely upon you completely.” The valet understood, and three days later he bore a message to Lady Elaine Seabright, which read in this way: MY LOST LOVE--To-morrow night I shall leave England forever. Before doing so, I must see you once more, if only to vindicate myself in your eyes. I have a wife who is devoted to me heart and soul, and, God helping me, I will do my duty toward her. At three o’clock to-morrow afternoon I shall arrive at your address. Do not deny me this last farewell. HAROLD. Lady Elaine shed tears over this missive, and replied simply: It is wrong, but I cannot deny you. Heaven forgive me! The very knowledge of his disloyalty to his wife increased his tenderness toward her. He called her by many pet names, and spoke in glowing terms of the brightness of their future, but she only smiled in a sad, sweet way, and sometimes shook her head. “You will forget me some day, my husband,” she said. “You will forget me, and it may be soon. Already have your thoughts gone back to the woman you first loved.” “My silly ravings again,” he replied. “Theresa, it pains me to hear you talk in this way. I shall never fail in my duty to you.” “I know it, Harold; you are too good, too noble, too unselfish. I could never blame you; I love you too well, and my love is all-sacrificing.” She pressed hot kisses on his brow, mingled with tears. “Dear little Theresa,” he said, dreamily, “how you love me! Ah! sweetheart, a life’s devotion cannot repay such wonderful love as yours! To-morrow we enter upon a new life--new scenes, new aspirations, and leave the past behind.” He sighed, and for a few minutes Theresa’s face looked almost happy. “If I could only believe it,” she thought. “If I could only believe it! No, no! It is not possible; I am the bar to his happiness! I am the dread phantom that kills his peace! But to-morrow--to-morrow shall decide!” CHAPTER XXIII. THERESA’S WARNING. Theresa was much more cheerful the following morning. There might yet be happiness for her and the man she loved so much. He had declared his intention of quitting England that very day and devoting his life to her. Surely her all-absorbing passion for him would meet with some return! “I know that the sight of his old love, and the memory of the old days have revived much that has lain dormant within him, but he is mine--mine--and I love him best! Why should she steal away my happiness? I who am so lonely and sad. If he were free to make his choice, which would he take? Ah, my love is no mere outward show. For his sake I would willingly lay down my life!” She had forgotten the vendetta, but that very day she had a note thrust into her hand by an urchin who had found his way to her apartments unobserved. In astonishment and horror she opened it and read the following: