At the top of one of the pages, and under the date of a week previous, she saw three names that sent every drop of blood back upon her heart and turned her giddy and faint. “William Heath and wife. Master Willie Heath and maid,” she read, and every letter seemed as if it had been branded in characters of fire upon her brain. CHAPTER III. VIRGIE SHALL YET HAVE HER INHERITANCE. Could it be possible that the man who had been her husband had come again to this country, accompanied by the woman who had supplanted her? They had a child too, it seemed, a young heir, and they were all underneath the same roof with her. For a moment she was dazed with the knowledge; then she was tempted to dash the pen through her own name and fly to some other place. But she did not like to make herself conspicuous; even now the clerk had noticed her emotion, and was asking her if she was faint and would like a glass of water. So she braced herself to face whatever might come, though she felt as if it would kill her to meet the man who had once called her wife. She resolved to go to her rooms and remain in them, at least for a day or two, then she would quietly leave the hotel and go to some other. She found her apartments very pleasant, overlooking the river and the rapids, while in the distance she could hear the never-ceasing roar of the falls. But there were no attractions in the place now for her; all interest had been swallowed up in the intense excitement that had taken possession of her. She slept but little that night, and during all the next day she was wretched and almost ill. All her wrongs seemed to rise up afresh before her, and she wondered that Sir William had dared to cross the ocean lest her vengeance should overtake him. He was traveling, too, the same as he used to, as plain Mr. Heath. Oh, how supremely happy she had been in those lovely rooms in New York, when she had believed herself to be his honored wife, and was looking forward to a bright future as the mistress of Heathdale. But now she believed another was reigning there. She wondered if she was fair and lovely; if she had ever suspected the wrong that her husband had done his first wife. She wondered, too, if Sir William had ever legalized that mock marriage after receiving the notice of his divorce from her. All day she lay there, too miserable to rise, listening to every footfall that passed her door; she believed that she could recognize _his_ step, even though a decade of years had passed since she had heard it. When night came again she was nearly worn out, and, with little Virgie clasped close to her heart, she slept the sleep of exhaustion, and awoke the next morning feeling stronger and much refreshed, though still very unhappy.