And when he leaves her at the balcony steps he presses his lips to her white hand, and whispers, kindly: "After to-night, little wife, we are never to be parted any more, remember." CHAPTER XVIII. No one can recall without a shudder of horror the midnight burning of the steamer _Hesperus_ in mid-ocean in 188-, and the terrible loss of life consequent upon that marine disaster. She had been five days out, with fair skies and smooth seas, and every prospect of a prosperous and speedy voyage, when that disastrous fire stole upon her like a thief in the night, and wrapped her noble and majestic form in a winding sheet of flame. Fifty souls perished miserably, including the captain and a part of crew. In that terrible holocaust of fire and water, Reine Charteris was _lost_. Her husband was saved--saved through such a tragedy of horror as sowed silvery threads in his fair, clustering locks, and almost broke his heart with remorse and pain. We will hear him tell the story in his own words, as he told it that day when seated in the gloomy prison-cell, where Maud Langton was expiating her folly in bitterness of soul, he placed in her hands a small metallic case, locked with a tiny key, and said, solemnly and slowly: "This means freedom and release to you, Maud. It is a legacy to you from the dead." The beautiful, queenly-looking girl, wasted and worn from long confinement, and sickening dread and terror, looks up at the man's pale, haggard face, at the deep crape band on his hat, and shudders. "You mean----" she says, then pauses, struck dumb by the white agony of his face. "I mean I have lost my wife; Reine is dead." "Dead!" the beautiful prisoner cries in wonder--not sorrow. _That_ is so plain to his senses, sharpened by grief, that he cries out bitterly: "Yes, dead! But look at your legacy, Maud. That is all your selfish soul will care for!" She gives him one look of cold surprise, and then turns eagerly to her treasure. The small key grates in the lock, the lid of the box flies open. Within lies a package wrapped in oil silk. Undoing this with eager fingers, Maud comes upon the precious note that means so much to her in this terrible plight, the note poor Reine had crossed the seas to win from the vengeful grasp of Vane Charteris. All of Maud's cold, superb dignity breaks down at sight of that little slip of paper. She weeps and laughs together. "This means hope, freedom, happiness to me," she cries, tearfully. "And you had it all the time, Vane. And Reine knew. It was for that she crossed the seas?" "Yes," he answers, "and it was for that she died." "No, no!" Maud says, and shakes her head; "how could that be? Oh, how I thank you for bringing me this! You did not know when you went away how much it was worth to me, did you? That my very life would depend upon it?" He looks at her with steady, somber eyes.