As the lawyer resumed his seat, amid a breathless hum of excitement, a loud shriek pierced the air of the court-room--a wild, horrible, blood-curdling, maniacal cry. Every eye turned on Felise Herbert, who had risen in her seat, and with distorted features, livid lips and burning eyes, was wildly beating the air with her hands. Her appearance was appalling to behold as she stood there with her hat falling off, her hair in disorder, and foam flecks on her livid, writhing lips. "Foiled! foiled!" she exclaimed wildly. "I am baffled of my revenge at every point." Everyone seemed horror-struck. None attempted to molest her as she moved forward and stood before Colonel Carlyle. The old man looked up at her vacantly. He had neither moved nor spoken since the entrance of his wife; he seemed to be fettered hand and foot by a trance of horror. He did not heed the threatening look in the eyes of Felise Herbert as they fell upon him, full of the wild glare of madness. "You jilted me, fool!" she said, passionately, wildly gesticulating with her hands--"jilted me for the sake of Bonnibel Vere's baby beauty. I swore revenge upon you both. I forged the notice of Leslie Dane's death, made her believe it was true, and drove her to desperation and forced her to marry you. I made you jealous by my anonymous letters, and turned your married life into a hell upon earth. But now, the sweetest drop in my cup--the illegality of your marriage--is turned into bitterness. But I will have my revenge yet. _Die_, _die_, villain!" One movement, swift as the lightning flash, and a little dagger gleamed in her hand, and the next instant was buried to the hilt in Colonel Carlyle's heart. With a groan he fell on the floor at her feet. Strong hands bore the raving maniac away, attended by her frightened, horror-struck mother. The poor victim of the madwoman's fatal revenge, as he lay weltering in his blood, lifted his dimming eyes, and gasped one imploring word: "_Bonnibel!_" Trembling like a wind-blown leaf, she came at his call, and knelt down at his side with a great pity shining in her soft blue eyes. The dying man's gaze dwelt on her for a moment, drinking in all the sweetness and fairness of the face he loved, and which he was losing forever. "My wife," he murmured, in hollow, broken accents, "do you not--see--I--was--not wholly--to blame? A--fiend's--work--goaded me--on! She has--had--her revenge. But--it--might have been--so different--if I had known. Bonnibel, _forgive_!" She took his hand in hers and bent her face lower over him, with all the divine pity and forgiveness of a tender woman shining in the eyes that were brimming over with tears. "I am sorry it all fell out so," she said, very gently, "and I forgive all--as freely as I hope to be forgiven." A beam of love and gratitude flashed over his features an instant; then it faded out in the grayness and pallor of death. Bonnibel turned away, and hid her face on the shoulder of the faithful Lucy.