"It is not too late," said Eustace, earnestly. "I have told you the truth. I have humiliated myself in your eyes because I am anxious to repair my fault, to bring you together again. Let me send for your wife, Guy, and believe me, she will come, only too gladly, to your sick bed with words of forgiveness and regret." But the sick man rolled his head from side to side on the pillow with dreary despair. "No; no! it cannot be. My wife can never be mine again--Maraquita----" "Maraquita Veilsturm!" interrupted Eustace, sternly. "Don't mention her name in connection with that of your wife." "She was kind to me when Alizon was so cruel." "Kind, yes, for her own ends. Listen to me, Guy. Mrs. Veilsturm has been using you as a means of revenge against your wife." All the listless despair disappeared from Errington's face, and he wrenched his hand angrily away from Eustace. "What do you mean?" "Exactly what I say," said Eustace hurriedly, seeing that his cousin was getting excited, and determined to have the whole thing over and done with it at once. "Do you think Mrs. Veilsturm ever forgave or forgot the slight she received from your wife? Not she! I know Mrs. Veilsturm, none better. However, I'm going to say nothing about her except this, that she pretended to love you in order to cause trouble between yourself and your wife. And now that she has succeeded, she has gone off and left you, ill as you are, to do the best you can without her." "No! it's not true! It can't be true," raved Guy, fiercely. "You malign her, she is a true good woman, she loves me--she loves me." "I tell you she does not," said Eustace, rising to his feet, so as to be ready for any emergency, for Guy looked so wild that he was afraid he would spring upon him. "Liar! You cannot prove it!" "I can, and by her own handwriting." Guy snatched the letter Eustace held out to him, tore open the envelope, glanced over the few cruel words of dismissal, and then, dropping the paper, covered his face with his hands, moaning pitifully. "You see now, my dear Guy, what this woman really is," said Gartney tranquilly, picking up the letter; "a vindictive vixen, who simply used you for her own ends." The baronet uncovered his face, and looked at Eustace in a vacant manner, his eyes large and bright, his lips twitching with nervous agitation, and a feverish flush on his hot, dry skin. "I must go to her," he said in a shrill voice, trying to rise from his bed. "I must see her." "No! no! it's impossible," cried Eustace in alarm, holding him back; "be reasonable, Guy, be reasonable. Stay where you are, Guy!"