In support of a theory which is supposed to be revealed by his papers, Lord Lovelace declares that a solution of Byron's mystery may be found in his poems, and he fixes on 'Manfred' for the key. The haunting remorse of Manfred is once more trotted out to prove that Byron committed incest. There is nothing new in this 'nightmare of folly,' for Byron himself was well aware of the interpretation placed upon that poem by his contemporaries. Manfred is certainly the revelation of deep remorse, but the crime for which he suffers had no connection with Augusta Leigh. Lord Lovelace says that 'the germ of this nightmare in blank verse _was in the actual letters of the living Astarte_.' The statement may be true; but he was certainly not in a position to prove it, for he knew not, to the last hour of his life, who the living Astarte was. It is a sad story that should never have been told, and the present writer regrets that circumstances should have compelled him to save the reputation of one good woman by revealing matters affecting the misfortunes of another. But the blame must lie with those inconsiderate, ignorant, and prejudiced persons who, in an attempt to justify Lady Byron's conduct, cruelly assailed the memory of one who 'When fortune changed--and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast,' was the solitary star which rose, and set not to the last. On January 2, 1815, Lord and Lady Byron were married at Seaham. The little that is known of their married life may be found in letters and memoranda of people who were in actual correspondence with them, and the details which we now give from various sources are necessary to a better understanding of the causes which led to a separation between husband and wife in January, 1816. According to a statement made by Lady Byron to her friend Lady Anne Barnard, shortly after a rumour of the separation spread in London, there never was any real love on either side. The following passages are taken from some private family memoirs written by Lady Anne herself: 'I heard of Lady Byron's distress, and entreated her to come and let me see and hear her, if she conceived my sympathy or counsel could be any comfort to her. She came, but what a tale was unfolded by this interesting young creature, who had so fondly hoped to have made [Byron] happy! They had not been an hour in the carriage ... when Byron, breaking into a malignant sneer, said: "Oh, what a dupe you have been to your imagination! How is it possible a woman of your sense could form the wild hope of reforming _me_? Many are the tears you will have to shed ere that plan is accomplished. It is enough for me that you are my wife for me to hate you; if you were the wife of any other man, I own you might have charms," etc. 'I listened in astonishment,' writes Lady Anne. '"How could you go on after this, my dear!" said I. "Why did you not return to your father's?"