He went to the library: she followed in dumb misery and despair. The door was locked, and he pushed forward an easy-chair for her to sit down. She sunk into it, glad to rest, for her limbs were trembling and weak. “Now tell me, Camille,” he said, sternly, “what was Robert Lacy to you that you should take his life?” She attempted to deny the accusation, but he would not permit her to do so. “I heard you confess your guilt when you thought yourself alone,” he said. “You said that if he would have made terms for the keeping a secret, you would have spared him, but that there was no other way.” She sat silent and sullen, feeling her doom sealed. “Shall I tell you what my suspicions are, Camille?” he asked, after a moment’s pause. She nodded without looking up at his white, awfully stern face, and he continued: “You had been carrying on with Lord Stuart a flirtation more shameless than I suspected, and this valet became cognizant of the truth and threatened you with exposure. To save your good name you murdered him. Hush! do not perjure yourself with useless denials. I shall not betray you. I will keep your hideous secret for the sake of the love I had for you in the past.” “Oh, my God, do not desert me, Norman! I am innocent! Lord Stuart will tell you that it was the most harmless flirtation,” she cried, in terror and entreaty. He unlocked a drawer and took out a bouquet of faded red roses with their awful stains, shuddering as he touched them. From among them he took out a sheet of blood-dyed paper on which was the crest of a noble house. Unfolding the paper, he said: “I can not believe, Camille, that any man would dare write such lines as these to a married woman unless there was some secret guilty consciousness between them.” He read aloud, in tones vibrant with scorn: “‘Ah! one thing worth beginning, One thread in life worth spinning; Ah, sweet, one sin worth sinning With all the whole soul’s will. To lull you till one stilled you, To kiss you till one killed you, To feed you till one filled you, Sweet lips, if love could fill!’” He paused, and she cried out, passionately: “How dared he? I gave him no cause for this insult.” A smile of bitter scorn and anger crossed his deathly pale face as he said: “Untrue wife and guilty woman, we must part! You have slain all love between us by your sins. The murder of Robert Lacy I will never betray, but in order that the world may have an excuse for the divorce I shall procure from you, I shall publicly chastise Lord Stuart to-night. In a few hours I shall leave Verelands. I presume my mother will accompany me. Our divorce I will manage with as little scandal as possible for both our sakes.” He bowed, and, without giving her a chance to reply, abruptly quitted the room. CHAPTER XIX.