She seated herself by one of the tables, and opened a portfolio of sketches. Her head drooped over the book, and she seemed absorbed in the contemplation of the drawings. Glancing at her furtively, Sir Oswald could see that she was wounded; and yet he--the adoring husband, the devoted lover--did not approach her. His mind was disturbed--his thoughts confused. He passed through one of the open windows, and went out upon the terrace. There all was calm and tranquil; but the tranquil loveliness of the scene had no soothing influence on Sir Oswald. His brain was on fire. An intense affection can scarcely exist without a lurking tendency to jealousy. Until to-night every jealous feeling had been lulled to rest by the confiding trust of the happy husband; but to-night a few words--spoken in apparent carelessness--spoken by one who could have, as Sir Oswald thought, no motive for malice--had aroused the sleeping passion, and peace had fled from his heart. As Sir Oswald passed the window by which he had left Lydia Graham, he heard that young lady talking to some one. "It is positively disgraceful," she said; "her flirtation with that Mr. Carrington is really too obvious, though Sir Oswald is so blind as not to perceive it. I thought they were cousins until to-night. Imagine my surprise when I found that they were not even distantly related; that they have actually only known each other for a fortnight. The woman must be a shameless flirt, and the man is evidently an adventurer." The poisoned arrow shot to its mark. Sir Oswald believed that these words had never been intended to reach his ears. He did not for a moment suspect that Lydia Graham had recognized his approaching figure on the moonlit terrace, and had uttered these words to her friend on purpose that they should reach his ears. How should a true-hearted man suspect a woman's malice? How should he fathom the black depths of wickedness to which a really false and heartless woman can descend? He did not know that Lydia Graham had ever hoped to be mistress of his home. He did not know that she was inspired by fury against himself--by passionate envy of his wife. To him her words seemed only the careless slander of society, and experience had shown him that in such slanders there lurked generally some leaven of truth.