So this was her husband! This man who had gone straight from his home, from his wife, from his child, to the arms of this infamous woman. He knew more than the world did about the character of Mrs. Veilsturm, for she had told him herself. He knew that she, his wife, had refused to receive this adventuress and had returned her card! He knew that Mrs. Veilsturm, Cleopatra, whatever she liked to call herself, had been connected with disreputable Gabriel Mostyn, and yet, in spite of all this, he had dared to enter her house, to clasp hands with her as a friend, to sacrifice his honour and that of his wife to this vile woman. Was there any faith or honesty in man? Her father had been bad and vicious all his life; he had destroyed his daughter's belief in the male sex by the terrible revelations of his death-bed, but her husband--oh!--she had thought him better than this: she had respected and admired him, she had been a good wife, holding her head high and keeping her honour spotless. She was a good mother to his child, and she had done her best in all ways to fulfil the vows made at the marriage altar. This was her reward! She was deserted for another woman, for a woman who was the vilest of her sex. Her wifely honour had been dragged in the mud, her wifely name had been placed with jeers in the mouths of men and women, and the marriage tie, so sacred in her eyes, had been violated by her husband, by the very man who should have respected its sanctity. Her first born was playing at her feet in the happy innocence of childhood, a pure soul fresh from the hand of God, who had given her this treasure to nurse and cherish. Yet even now, in its artless babyhood, the shadow of a dark shame was hovering over its golden head, the name it bore was already smirched in the eyes of the world, and its father, who was responsible to God for its well-being, had already degraded it by his own shameful passion. Ah! all men were the same. Her father was only the type of many others. They loved a woman, or said they loved her, and stayed beside her for a time, yet as soon as they grew weary of her, they flew to the arms of some newer fancy, and not even the sanctity of the marriage tie could restrain their brutal natures. Guy, whom she thought so good and kind, had turned out the same as his fellow men. He had been a good husband for a time, but now, grown weary of his quiet home, satiated with domestic love, weary of his prattling child, he had deliberately flung himself into the arms of this light-o'-love. Well, he would have his reward. The wages of sin is death! and he would be dragged down to destruction by those arms that encircled him so fondly.