'Lord Maulevrier was known to leave India carrying with him two large chests--supposed to contain books--but actually containing treasure. A man who was in the Governor's confidence, and who had been the go-between in his intrigues, confessed on his death-bed that he had assisted in removing the treasure. Now, Lady Maulevrier, since your husband died immediately after his arrival in England, and before he could have had any opportunity of converting or making away with the valuables so appropriated, it stands to reason that those valuables must have passed into your possession, and it is from your honour and good feeling that I claim their restitution. If you deny the claim so advanced, there remains but one course open to me, and that is to make my wrongs public, and claim my right from the law of the land.' 'And do you suppose that any English judge or English jury would believe so wild a story--or countenance so vile an accusation against the defenceless?' demanded Lady Maulevrier, standing up before him, tall, stately, with flashing eye and scornful lip, the image of proud defiance. 'Bring forward your claim, produce your documents, your witnesses, your death-bed confessions. I defy you to injure my dead husband or me by your wild lies, your foul charges! Go to an English lawyer, and see what an English law court will do for you--and your claim. I will hear no more of either.' She rang the bell once, twice, thrice, with passionate hand, and a servant flew to answer that impatient summons. 'Show this gentlemen to his carriage,' she said, imperiously. The gentleman who called himself Louis Asoph bowed, and retired without another word. As the door closed upon him, Lady Maulevrier stood, with clenched hands and frowning brow, staring into vacancy. Her right arm was outstretched, as if she would have waved the intruder away. Suddenly, a strange numbness crept over that uplifted arm, and it fell to her side. From her shoulder down to her foot, that proud form grew cold and feelingless and dead, and she, who had so long carried herself as a queen among women, sank in a senseless heap upon the floor. CHAPTER XVI. 'HER FACE RESIGNED TO BLISS OR BALE.' Lady Mary and the Fräulein had been sitting in the drawing-room all this time waiting for Lady Maulevrier to come to tea. They heard her come in from the garden; and then the footman told them that she was in the library with a stranger. Not even the muffled sound of voices penetrated the heavy velvet curtain and the thick oak door. It was only by the loud ringing of the bell and the sound of footsteps in the hall that Lady Mary knew of the guest's departure. She went to the door between the two rooms, and was surprised to find it bolted. 'Grandmamma, won't you come to tea?' she asked timidly, knocking on the oaken panel, but there was no reply. She knocked again, and louder. Still no reply. 'Perhaps her ladyship is going to take tea in her own room,' she said, afraid to be officious.