"It were best concealed," she said, and again he heard that strange, blood-curdling laugh. He bowed and stood gazing at her silently, wondering a little who she could be. The wandering sibyl stood silent, too, as if lost in thought. Presently she started and spoke like one waking from a dream: "And yet perhaps I may give you a word of warning." "Pray do so," he answered carelessly, for his eyes had returned to the graceful form of Bonnibel as she stood leaning against a tall stand of flowers at a little distance from him. The woman's eyes followed his. She frowned darkly beneath her mask. "You have gathered many distinguished guests around you to-night, Colonel Carlyle," she said, abruptly. "None more honored than yourself, madam, be sure, although unknown," he answered, with a courtly bow. "Pretty words," she answered, with a mocking laugh. "Let me repay them by a friendly warning." She bent nearer and breathed in a low, sibilant whisper: "Your wife and the great artist who is your honored guest to-night, were lovers long ago. Watch well how they meet when unmasked to-night!" With the words she glided from him like the serpent forsaking Eden. And that deadly serpent, jealousy, that had lain dormant in the colonel's heart for months, "scotched but not killed," now coiled itself anew for a fatal spring. The blood in his veins seemed turning to liquid fire. His heart beat so wildly that he could distinctly hear its rapid throbs. He felt frightened at the swiftness and violence of the passion that flooded his whole being. The words spoken by the masked woman seemed to burn themselves into his heart. "Your wife and the great artist who is your honored guest to-night were lovers long ago. Watch well how they meet when unmasked to-night." For a moment Reason tried to assert her supremacy, and whisper, "Peace, be still," to the seething whirlpool of emotion. "Do not believe it," she said. "Someone is trying to tease you. It is quite impossible that Bonnibel and this foreign artist should have met before. Anonymous warnings should always be treated with contempt." And then he remembered the anonymous note he had received at Long Branch two years before. "_That_ was true," he said to himself. "Bonnibel as good as admitted it, for she would not show me the inscription in the ring, and she refused to give up wearing it. But she said that the giver was dead. Had she had two lovers, then, innocent and youthful as she was? Perhaps she deceived me. Women are not to be trusted, they say. I will obey the warning of my unknown friend and watch." He waited impatiently for the summons to supper, which would be the signal for laying aside the masks.