"It seems your headache has left you," I exclaimed curtly, without answering her question. "Yes, I feel better this morning." "In fact, the pain disappeared as soon as you left me last night, eh?" "What!--what do you mean, Frank?" she asked anxiously, in a strange voice, a sudden pallor overspreading her statuesque face. "You plead ignorance; it is exactly what I expected. My meaning, I should have thought was pretty clear. You are not usually so dull." "I do not understand you." Her eyes wavered, she trembled with excitement, and I could see she was bent upon concealing the truth. This increased my anger. "It is a lie!" I said sharply. "You are trying to deceive me, but I know the truth at last." "Deceiving you! Why, what have I done that you should accuse me in this manner? Surely you are not yourself this morning?" "You left me here writing last night, did you not?" "Yes," she answered, gloomily. "And thought that I was safe for a few hours, and would not keep an eye upon your movements?" "What has that to do with it?" "Simply this. A couple of hours after you shammed illness and left me, I went out into the Dene, and there I saw--" "There you saw me!" she cried wildly, swaying forward, and clutching at the back of a chair for support. "_Dieu_! it is true, Frank; yes, true, I--I confess--I deceived you." "Then you admit it!" I ejaculated, hardly believing my own ears. "Yes; yes, I do," she moaned in tones of anguish. "But forgive me, and say no more about the occurrence. It was unfortunate, and no harm has been done." I tried with difficulty to restrain my passionate indignation. Such a cool request maddened me. "Unfortunate?" I cried. "No; for me it is the reverse, for it has opened my eyes to your faithlessness. Forgive you this! The thing's absurd!" "I unfaithful!" she repeated, looking vacantly about her, and clasping her hands. "I never thought it could be misconstrued into that! I unfaithful! Am I not your wife?" and with heaving breast and tearful eyes she bent her head as if to avert my gaze. "Yes; you are my wife, but she who brings dishonour upon her husband is unworthy that name," I said, in a tone of disgust. "I have not brought you dishonour," she declared, drawing herself up with dignity. "You have, I tell you! Late last night you met a strange man in the Dene, and that man is your lover!" I retorted, decisively. "That I am to blame, Frank, I admit," she said, dashing the tears from her eyes, "but he is not my lover. I swear you are mistaken. Nothing was further from my thoughts." "Oh, don't tell me that! I know enough of the world to distinguish the meaning of such clandestine meetings," I replied, sickened at the manner she was endeavouring to clear herself. "There is no love between us," she exclaimed; "but,"--and she paused.