And for a while we will draw the curtain of absence over this touching picture of sacred conjugal love and reunion, while we seek others of our friends. * * * * * On the afternoon of that same day Colonel Lockhart received a call from the chief detective. "I have discovered," he says briefly, "that Mr. Noble has hired a conveyance to take him down into the country about twenty-five miles to-night." "Well?" Colonel Lockhart inquires, his blue eyes blazing with excitement. "I have hired a fast trap for myself, and intend to give secret chase to the gentleman," Mr. Sharp replies. "That is right. I will accompany you," decides his employer, eagerly, and with a springing hope in his breast. CHAPTER XLIII. It is late noon when Mrs. Cleveland returns to her lodgings, and finds Ivy lounging on a sofa in the shabby parlor, in a state of blissful beatitude. "You have been out, Ivy?" she exclaims, in surprise, glancing at the elegant carriage dress of brocaded black silk and sparkling jet. "Yes," Ivy answers complacently. "Where?" her mother inquires, surprised, for hitherto Ivy has spent all her time in the seclusion of her chamber, bewailing her untoward fate. "I have been--to the jeweler's," Mrs. Noble answers, with shining eyes, and enjoying her mother's amazement with all the zest of one who has taken new hold on life. Mrs. Cleveland lifts her kidded hands in real dismay. "You have never been selling your jewels--oh, Ivy!" she cries. "Don't be a fool, mother!" cries the dutiful daughter. "Of course I haven't sold them. You know I would die before I would part with my diamonds!" "Then why have you been to the jeweler's?" Mrs. Cleveland asks, sharply, and Ivy answers, with a little, cunning, triumphant laugh: "I have left my pearls and diamonds to be reset. You know I have wanted them reset ever since we came to London. At last I have my wish, and they are to be done in truly royal style." Mrs. Cleveland stares at the speaker, the color fading from her cheeks and lips, her eyes startled. "And who is to pay for this last mad extravagance of yours?" she demands, in a low, angry voice. "Leslie Noble, of course," Ivy answers, laughing in her mother's face. "She is mad, I fear--stark, raving mad," Mrs. Cleveland exclaims, gazing apprehensively at her daughter. "Oh, no, I am not, mamma. Leslie was with me at the jeweler's. He has been here and begged my pardon for everything. He does not believe now that Lady Fairvale is his wife. I am going to live with him again." "Where? At Darnley House?" Mrs. Cleveland asks, almost stupefied at this unexpected news.