"You see that dark, handsome man, Vera?" he says. "His name is Leslie Noble. He is the husband of the lady in the diamonds." She makes him no answer at first. Her eyes are wide and dark with horror. All in a moment she sees plainly the awful answer to the question so often asked of her shuddering heart. "Vera, indeed you are ill. Let me take you away from the heavy scent of these flowers," her lover pleads. She starts like one waking from a dreadful dream, and clings to his arm. "Yes, take me away," she echoes, in a far-off voice. "There are too many flowers here, and the light hurts my eyes, and the music my heart." CHAPTER XXII. "My darling, I do not know what to think," Colonel Lockhart exclaims, anxiously. "A moment ago you were so bright and happy--now you look pale and startled, and your words are strange and wild. Has anything frightened you, my darling?" She lifts her heavy, dark eyes almost beseechingly to his own. "Philip, please do not talk to me, now," she says. "Do not ask me any questions. Only find me a quiet place away from the crowd, where I may rest awhile. I am ill." "I do not know where to find such a place, unless I take you into the conservatory. I expect it is quite deserted now," he answers. "We will go there, then," she replies. Troubled at heart, and very anxious over his darling, Colonel Lockhart leads her down through the long vistas of fragrant bloom to a quiet seat under a slender young palm tree. There are very few flowers here--only cool, green thickets of lovely, lace-like ferns, watered by the sparkling fountain poured from the lifted urn of a marble Naiad. "Will this spot suit you, Vera?" he inquires, anxiously. She bows, and looks at him with her grave, sad gaze. "Philip, you must leave me here alone for half an hour," she says, "I wish to rest awhile. Then you may come to me." "You look so ill and pale I am almost afraid to leave you alone," he answers. "May I not remain near you, Vera? I will not talk to you, nor weary you in any way. I will sit silently and wait your pleasure." "I would rather be alone," she answers, wearily. "Then I will go, my darling, but I shall be very anxious over you. It will be the longest half hour of my life." He stoops over her, and taking the sweet white face in his hands, kisses the pale, drawn lips. A stifled sob breaks from her at the thought that in a little while these kisses will be hers no longer. "You are nervous, dear. Let me send my sister to you," he urges. "I had rather be alone," she answers. "Forgive me, dear. I will go, then," he answers, turning away. The tall form disappears in the green, flowery shrubbery. The echo of the firm, elastic footstep dies away. Lady Vera is alone at last, sitting with folded hands and dark, terrified eyes, face to face with the awful reality of her life's despair.