"He is down-stairs now, Lucy--he is one of our guests to-night," said Bonnibel, with a heavy sigh. "Is it possible, ma'am?" exclaimed the girl, in surprise. "I thought--at least I heard--Miss Herbert's maid told me a long while ago that Mr. Dane was dead." "There was some mistake," answered Bonnibel, drearily. "He is alive--I have seen him. And now, Lucy, I will tell you what I wish you to do." The girl stood listening attentively. "You will take this note, my good girl, and go down-stairs and put it in the hands of Mr. Dane, if you can find him. Try and deliver it to him unobserved, and bring me back his answer." "I will find him if he is to be found anywhere," said Lucy, taking the note and departing on her secret mission. Leslie Dane's first passionate impulse after his abrupt meeting with his lost wife was to leave the house which sheltered her false head. But as he was about to put his resolve into execution he was accosted by a group of ladies and detained for half an hour listening to an idle hum of words, from which he longed to tear himself away in the frenzy of scorn and indignation which possessed him. At length he excused himself, and was about passing through the deserted hall on his way out when he encountered Bonnibel's maid. Lucy had, like many illiterate persons, a keen recollection of faces. She knew the artist immediately. "You are Mr. Dane," she said, going up to him after a keen glance around to see if she were unobserved. "Yes," he answered, looking at her in wonder. "I have a note for you, sir. Please read it and give me an answer at once." He took it, tore off the envelope, and read the few lines that Bonnibel had penned, while a frown gathered on his brow. "Well, sir?" "Wait a moment." He took a gold pencil from his pocket and hastily scribbled a few lines on the back of Bonnibel's sheet. Lucy, watching him curiously under the glare of gas-light, saw that he was deadly pale, and trembled like a leaf. "Give this to your mistress," he said, putting the sheet back in the torn envelope, "and tell her that I am gone." He turned away and walked rapidly out of sight. Lucy sighed, she could not have told why, and turned back along the hall. "Hold, girl!" exclaimed a hoarse, passionate voice behind her. She turned in a fright, and saw Colonel Carlyle just behind her, his features distorted by rage and passion. He caught her arm violently and tore the note from her grasp. "I will myself deliver this note to your mistress," he said, "and as for you, girl, go!" He dragged her along the hallway to the open door, and pushed her out violently into the street, bareheaded and with no wrapping to protect her frail, womanly form from the rigors of the wintry night. "Go, creature!" he thundered after her, "go, false minion of a false woman, and never darken these doors again with your hated presence!"