That was a happy evening, and one Lady Gwendolyn often looked back upon with longing afterward. They had tickets for the Opera Comique, but decided at the last moment that they should be much happier at home; and, dismissing the carriage, drew their chairs up to the log fire, and chatted merrily until bedtime. Lady Gwendolyn did not cry herself to sleep that night, nor was she troubled by any evil presentiment of coming trouble. As she seemed tired, Colonel Dacre was careful not to rouse her when he went to his dressing-room. But half an hour later he came hurriedly back, with an open letter in his hand. “Gwen, darling,” he said, “I am so very sorry, but I must go to England directly upon urgent business. The hurried journey would be too much for you, even if I were able to wait until you got ready; but I shall not be away more than three or four days, and I am sure you will not mind being such a short time alone.” He looked so troubled and anxious that she said at once: “I am afraid there is something serious the matter that you will not tell me.” “My uncle, Sir Lawrence, is dead!” “Is that all?” an inward voice prompted her to say. He colored faintly, and a little spasm of pain contracted his firm lips as he answered: “Isn’t that enough, Gwen? However, I must not stand talking here. I have only just time to catch the boat-train.” He took leave of her hurriedly, but very tenderly, promising to write to her from Dover, and then caught up the traveling-bag he had been filling as he talked, and hurried away; turning back at the door to give her a last loving glance and smile. No sooner had she heard his fiacre drive off than she jumped out of bed with almost a guilty air, and, picking up a telegram she had seen drop out of his pocket, read the following words: “Come the moment you receive this. There will be an exposé if not, as she is very violent and restless. She says she wants to find her husband, and we have only been able to keep her quiet by promising that she should see you to-night.” Was her husband indeed lost to her? CHAPTER XXI. FEAR. Lady Gwendolyn was so stunned by what she had seen, that for full ten minutes she stood in the center of the room, with the paper in her hand, not as yet realizing the misfortune that had befallen her, and yet with a dead weight at her heart, and such a sense of bitter loss and desecration, that she felt as if it would be a blessed thing to die. Her husband had left her with a kiss, and yet all these months he had been living a lie. And living it boldly, although he must have known that chance might betray him at any moment. And the Nemesis which had been dogging his steps all that while had at last tracked him home to his shame and her sorrow. How she pitied herself as she thought of her great loss, and pictured the long, lonely future that she must needs pass without him.