There was a moment of silence. Cosway looked at the lamp. Once roused, as usual with men of his character, his temper was not to be trifled with. "Miss Benshaw," he said, "I dare say you think me a fool; but I can draw my own conclusion, for all that. _You_ are my enemy." The only reply was a chuckling laugh. All voices can be more or less effectually disguised by a whisper but a laugh carries the revelation of its own identity with it. Cosway suddenly threw off the shade over the lamp and turned up the wick. The light flooded the room, and showed him--His Wife. _The Third Epoch in Mr. Cosway's Life._ Three days had passed. Cosway sat alone in his lodging--pale and worn: the shadow already of his former self. He had not seen Adela since the discovery. There was but one way in which he could venture to make the inevitable disclosure--he wrote to her; and Mr. Atherton's daughter took care that the letter should be received. Inquiries made afterward, by help of the same good friend, informed him that Miss Restall was suffering from illness. The mistress of the house came in. "Cheer up, sir," said the good woman. "There is better news of Miss Restall to-day." He raised his head. "Don't trifle with me!" he answered fretfully; "tell me exactly what the servant said." The mistress repeated the words. Miss Restall had passed a quieter night, and had been able for a few hours to leave her room. He asked next if any reply to his letter had arrived. No reply had been received. If Adela definitely abstained from writing to him, the conclusion would be too plain to be mistaken. She had given him up--and who could blame her? There was a knock at the street-door. The mistress looked out. "Here's Mr. Stone come back, sir!" she exclaimed joyfully--and hurried away to let him in. Cosway never looked up when his friend appeared. "I knew I should succeed," said Stone. "I have seen your wife." "Don't speak of her," cried Cosway. "I should have murdered her when I saw her face, if I had not instantly left the house. I may be the death of the wretch yet, if you presist in speaking of her!" Stone put his hand kindly on his friend's shoulder. "Must I remind you that you owe something to your old comrade?" he asked. "I left my father and mother, the morning I got your letter--and my one thought has been to serve you. Reward me. Be a man, and hear what is your right and duty to know. After that, if you like, we will never refer to the woman again." Cosway took his hand, in silent acknowledgment that he was right. They sat down together. Stone began. "She is so entirely shameless," he said, "that I had no difficulty in getting her to speak. And she so cordially hates you that she glories in her own falsehood and treachery." "Of course, she lies," Cosway said bitterly, "when she calls herself Miss Benshaw?"