But her heart kept beating on, though wildly and tumultuously. Her trembling limbs still upheld her, and by degrees, as he forbore to speak, some of her native audacity returned to her. She determined to make one bold effort to regain lost ground. She lifted her drooping lids, gazed at him appealingly, and cried: “Oh, Norman, how you startled me! I--I--did not know you were here! I have lost one of my diamond rings--the prettiest one I had--and I’ve been searching for it everywhere. You haven’t seen it, have you, dear?” CHAPTER XVIII. Camille waited breathlessly for her husband’s answer. After a moment’s silence it came, sternly, yet with infinite sadness: “Camille, have pity on your immortal soul, and do not blacken it further by such terrible perjuries! You have lost no ring. You were searching for the bouquet that Robert Lacy brought to you at this spot yesterday--the bouquet that I found when I came back this morning to escort you to the inquest.” “You--you!” she almost shrieked. “Be quiet, unless you wish to draw listeners to the spot,” he said, sharply. “Yes, I found the flowers, Camille. When I heard the evidence at the inquest I wondered what had become of the flowers Lord Stuart had sent you. I thought they would form an important link in the chain of evidence. Some instinct drove me to search for them on my way home. I found them. There were clots of blood on the green leaves redder than the fading red roses, and the note among the flowers was dyed crimson, too. In this cool and shady spot the stains were scarcely dry. I was frightened, Camille. I took the bouquet home and hid it, and at the inquest I dared not say one word about it. Yet I hoped that the man had committed suicide--” “Oh, he did--I swear he--” Camille interrupted, eagerly; but he frowned her coldly down. “Hush! denials are vain! By your own lips you stand convicted of your guilt. Almost as soon as I entered my mother’s room there came to me a fear that some clew might have been left at this spot by which the world might find out that Robert Lacy met his death at Verelands. With a shrinking from the notoriety such knowledge would entail on the De Veres, I hurriedly left the room and hastened here. You know the rest.” “You spyed upon me! You did not make your presence known!” she muttered, hoarsely. “I was dazed with wonder and with horror. My feet refused to move, and my tongue grew stiff as I realized the awful truth. I seemed at first to be turned to stone by the horror of my discovery,” he answered, in a slow, troubled voice, and in a minute he added: “Some one may come upon us here. We will go back to the house, Camille. I must speak to you in private.” She pulled the small lace veil down over her face and followed him in dead silence to the beautiful mansion among the trees.