Lady Theresa Annesley, daughter of Lambert Egerton and Theresa Ludovic, remember the death of Count Crispi cries still for vengeance. You and yours are forever under the ban until the hateful blood of your people is wiped from off the face of the earth. Think not to escape us. The executive awaits the signal to strike. In a moment all sunshine was blotted away, and she stood pale, trembling and hopeless. In this way Sir Harold found her, and his heart smote him with remorseless pangs. “If you don’t wish it, Theresa,” he said, “I will not go out at all to-day. Your pallor frightens me. Tell me, child. What is your trouble?” He waited anxiously, fearfully. If Theresa asked him to stay with her, then he might never see Lady Elaine again. It was a terrible sacrifice, but he was prepared to make it. For one brief space she hesitated, then burst into a storm of tears. “No, darling, you must not forego every pleasure for my sake,” she sobbed. “Have I not surrounded you with a network of perplexities and dangers already? I am frightened--not for myself, but for my beloved husband! See! You ought to read this. A danger menaces you, my love--the danger of death!” He took the paper, and his face flamed with fury. “The cowards!” he hissed--“the pitiful, wretched cowards! Theresa, this is a mere, contemptible threat! Why was the boy not seized? I will get to the root of it if half my fortune is spent in so doing!” He made inquiries from the hotel clerk, the burly _commissionaire_ in the doorway, the servants about the hall. Then he was driven to Scotland Yard and placed the matter in competent hands. Money was no object. The wretches must be brought to justice, and his wife’s person properly guarded. He returned and told her what he had done, and she said, in reply: “I am glad for your sake, Harold, but I am very much afraid. My father ought not to have hidden this from me!” Then she looked up at him, with a mournfulness in her eyes that he never forgot. “My husband,” she said, “I am going to make a strange request of you--a request which I hope that you will grant, because I know that it is for your good.” “Well, Theresa? Sweet one, don’t look at me in that way! Your eyes will haunt me forever. Now, what is it you want?” “Sir Harold, I want you to divorce me! I was reading only recently in some paper that a marriage under any serious misapprehension was practically null and void--that the law would unhesitatingly set it aside. I ask you this with a breaking heart, because I love you as no other can love you--knowing that I am but a clog--a menace to your future happiness!” “Theresa--Theresa! What has put this madness into your tender, loving heart?” He took her in his arms and held her to him tightly. He showered upon her words of endearment. “A little while, Theresa, and all these worries will have melted like mists in the sun. You are too sensitive--too imaginative. Oh, the thought to me is horrible!”