Then followed the street and number of the Francoises' new abode. There was no date, no address, no signature. But Leslie knew too well all that it did not say; comprehended to the full its hidden meaning. She had not anticipated this blow; had never dreamed that they would dare so much. Standing there, with her lips compressed and her fingers clutching the dirty bit of paper, she looked the future full in the face. Stanhope had bidden her ignore their commands and fear nothing. But then he never could have anticipated _this_. If she could see him; could consult him once again. But that was impossible; he had told her so. For many moments she stood moveless and silent, her brow contracted, the desperate look in her eyes growing deeper, her lips compressing themselves into fixed firm lines. Then she thrust the note into her pocket, and turned from the grate. "It is the last straw!" she muttered, in a low monotone. "But there shall be no more hesitation; we have had enough of that. They may do their worst now, and--" she shut her teeth with a sharp sound--"and I will frustrate them, at the cost of my honor or my life!" There was no timidity, no tremor of hesitation in her movements, as she crossed the room and opened the door. Her hand was firm, her step steady, her face as fixed as marble; but it looked, in its white immobility, like a face that was dead. She crossed the hall and entered the chamber occupied by her friend. A maid was there, engaged in sewing. Miss French had just left the room, she said. Miss French felt oppressed by the loneliness and gloom. She had gone below, probably to the conservatory. Winnie was in the conservatory, holding a book in one listless hand, idly fingering a trailing vine with the other. Her eyes, usually so merry and sparkling, were tear-dimmed and fixed on vacancy. Her pretty face was unnaturally woeful; her piquant mouth, sad and drooping. She sprang up, however, with a quick exclamation, when Leslie's hand parted the clustering vines, and Leslie's self glided in among the exotics. "Sit where you are, Winnie," said Leslie, in a voice which struck her listener as strangely chill and monotonous. "Let me sit beside you. It's not quite so dreary here, and I've something to say to you." Casting a look of startled inquiry upon her, Winnie resumed her seat among the flowery vines, and Leslie sank down beside her, resuming, as she did so, and in the same even, icy tone: "Dear, I want you to promise me, first of all, to keep what I am about to say a secret." Winnie lifted two inquiring eyes to the face of her friend, but said no word. "I know, Winnie, that you have ever been my truest, dearest friend," pursued Leslie. "But now--ah! I must put your friendship to a new, strange test. I feel as if my secret would be less a burden if shared by a true friend, and you are that friend. Winnie, I have a sad, sad secret."