Lucy sank down upon the wet and sleety pavement with a moan of pain, and Colonel Carlyle closed and locked the door upon her defenseless form. Rage had transformed the courteous old man into something more fiend-like than human. As soon as he had disposed of his wife's attendant so summarily he turned his attention to the note he had wrested from her reluctant grasp. Retiring into a deserted ante-room he opened and read it as coolly as if it had been addressed to himself. What he read caused the veins to start out upon his forehead like great twisted cords, and his lips to writhe, while his face grew purple, and his eyes almost started from their sockets. Bonnibel had written: "Leslie, forgive me if you can. Before God, I wronged you innocently! I thought you _dead_! If there is one spark of pity or honor in your breast _keep my secret_. It would _kill_ me to have it known to the _world_! I will go away from here and hide myself in obscurity forever! Of course I cannot remain with Colonel Carlyle a day longer. You seemed very angry to-night--your eyes flashed lurid lightnings upon me. I pray you, do not believe me willfully guilty--do not betray me for the sake of revenge! The shame, the horror, the disgrace of _our fatal secret_ will kill me soon enough. BONNIBEL." Looking at the top of the page he saw that she had dashed her pen several times through her monogram. He gnashed his teeth at the sight. "What could she possibly mean by it?" he asked himself, as he turned the sheet and read the artist's reply: "Do not fear for your proud position, Bonnibel. Mine is the last hand upon earth that would drag you down from it! Pursue your wonted way in peace and serenity. You need not go away--that is for me to do. God knows I would never have come here to-night had I dreamed of meeting _you_! But try to forget it! To-morrow I shall have passed out of your life forever, and that most deplorable _secret_ will be as safe with me as if I really were dead! LESLIE DANE." Colonel Carlyle crumpled those strange, unfathomable notes into his breast-pocket, and went out with ominous calm to bid adieu to his parting guests. They had enjoyed themselves so much, they said, and with many regrets for Mrs. Carlyle's unfortunate accident they hastened their departure. CHAPTER XXVIII. Bonnibel sat crouching in her chair, a prey to the most hopeless misery, waiting for Lucy's return. She was stunned and bewildered by the force and suddenness of the blow that had stricken her. One tangible thought alone ran through the mass of confused and conflicting feeling. It was that she must fly, at all hazards, from her humiliating position in Colonel Carlyle's house. She did not know where she would go, or how she would manage her flight. She would leave it all to Lucy.