“My Lord,” says Rich while they waited assistance, “you were near Mrs. Fenton when she fell. Was there any accident, or how?” “She drank but a mouthful of the wine and fell instantly—almost as though it had been poison. But that’s impossible. And yet——” Suddenly he ceased, with a look of horror.— Rich who knew the circumstances of the former amour as well as he, caught it and reflected it in his own face. “Impossible,” he repeated. “And yet—O, my Lord, a jealous woman,—Doubly jealous, of yourself and of Mrs. Fenton’s triumph; is anything impossible? You play with fire—I dare assure you. I had not considered it fully before, but Mrs. Bishop is not one to trifle with. She has carried it all so quietly that my fears were never roused.” “If I thought this,” my Lord said under his breath, “she should repent it the longest day she lived. But say nothing—nothing, Rich, as yet. We don’t know. The wine was all spilt on the ground, the glass broke and no proof left. Mrs. Fenton appeared pale and languid at the opening. Say nothing yet, I warn you!” They stood mute for a minute or two, she lying unconscious between them—Baltimore unable to consider the thing for the deadly fear that filled him, Rich in a tormenting anxiety on more counts than one. Presently the woman returning with the hurrying apothecary, the gentlemen were bid stand back and restoratives applied. They watched until her eyelids fluttered and then Rich approached his mouth to his companion’s ear. “My Lord, resent not my entreaty that you would withdraw before she has her senses. If she fears you——” “Fear?” repeats my Lord haughtily. “Surely, Rich, you don’t need to be told that a woman fears most where she loves most, especially in such a case as hers and mine. There’s a perfect understanding between Mrs. Fenton and myself though she conceals it. I have the right to be here.” “If that’s so——” says Rich hesitating. He knew not enough to disbelieve, and Polly might be as deep as others for aught he could tell. “_If?_” says the other, and laid his hand on his sword. Rich stared, and at that moment the apothecary called him softly, and he went to him, Lord Baltimore drawing back into the darkest corner of the room. “Sir, Mrs. Fenton recovers. Oblige me with particulars that the treatment may be answerable. I should judge she had partaken of something unwholesome.” From the shadow Lord Baltimore put his finger on his lip and Rich observed the gesture. “Why as to that,” says he, “I can’t throw much light, Mr. Meynell. The lady was unwell when she came to play and she fainted dead away in the prison scene. I hope ’tis a trifle.” “Tomorrow will declare more, Sir. She has youth and a fine constitution. If agreeable to you, Mrs. Jones and myself will convey her to the care of her friends. ’Tis certain she can’t play tomorrow or possibly the day after.”