A gentleman within arose from his seat, and came forward with outstretched hands and eager face. He was tall, handsome, fair-haired, with light eyes full of sinister gleams, and his full, sensual lips wore even now a cynical smile that appeared habitual to them. He was the same man who had watched, from the pier head at Brighton, the rescue of Octavia Hathaway from the sea by Sir Harold Wynde--the same man who had witnessed the marriage of the baronet and the widow from behind a clustered pillar in the church, and whose sinister comments, as he emerged into Hanover Square, we have chronicled. His quick glance swept the form and face of Lady Wynde; a look of admiration burned in his eyes. He held out his arms. With a joyous cry, the handsome widow sprang forward, and was clasped in his embrace. “At last! At last!” she murmured. “Yes, at last!” echoed Mr. Black, in tones of exultation. “Nothing stands between us now, Octavia! We have lost nothing by waiting. We have been guilty of no crime, and fate itself has played into our hands. And you, Octavia, in the prime of your beauty, are more magnificent than ever.” He drew her to a sofa and clasped an arm around her waist. Her head drooped to his shoulder. The flush of intense joy mantled her face. With all her soul Lady Wynde loved this man, and her voice trembled as she murmured: “Oh, Craven, I am glad that my life of hypocrisy is over at last, that there is no longer fear of discovery, and that we are free to enjoy our reward. How long ago it seems since you and I formed and entered upon our conspiracy which has placed me where I am! I was a widow with a meager income and expensive tastes. You were a widower with a son to educate, and a beggarly home and a beggarly income, so that you could not afford to marry. How well I remember that night in London, when you told me that if I had courage and boldness proportionate to my beauty, I could make our fortunes and our happiness. I eagerly asked how I could do this, and you showed me a copy of a Court Journal in which was a paragraph to the effect that ‘Sir Harold Wynde had gone down to Brighton, and that his presence there had created quite a flutter among marriageable ladies.’ And then you told me of his wealth and generosity, and urged me to try my fascinations upon him, to win him, to marry him--and to succeed in good time to a handsome fortune upon which you and I could marry. How long ago all that seems!”