"That is true, I had quite forgotten it," she said. "But then your rudeness in striking the glass from my hand--how do you account for that? What did you mean by it?" Her beautiful eyes were looking straight into his--the dusky, pansy-blue eyes of the lost bride whom he had worshiped so madly. His reason seemed to reel before that wonderful resemblance, his heart was on fire with the passion she roused within him; yet through it all he had a vague feeling that he must shield Sydney, that he must not betray her to the beautiful woman whom she had wronged. His dark eyes fell before her steady gaze, his cheek reddened, his tongue felt thick when he tried to speak. Sydney's heart was beating almost to suffocation, while he stood thus hesitating. She knew when he struck the glass from Queenie's hand that he had witnessed her dastardly crime. She wondered if his mad passion for the beautiful actress would lead him to betray _her_--his wife! In her terror and desperation she grasped his arm and looked up pleadingly into his face. Captain Ernscliffe looked down at her--oh! the withering scorn, the just horror of that look. She shrank back abashed before it, but he slowly shook his head. She was safe--he could not forget that she bore his name, however unworthily. "I ask you again, sir," said the actress, in a voice that demanded reply, "why did you strike the glass from my hand?" "Madam, I--I--pardon me, I was excited, I knew not what I did!" he stammered, not daring to meet her searching gaze. Suddenly Queenie uttered a cry of grief and terror. A little pet dog had left his cushion in the corner and lapped up the spilled wine from the floor with its tiny, pointed tongue. Now, after a few, unsteady motions, and two or three whining moans of pain, it uttered one sharp, despairing yelp, rolled over upon the carpet and expired. After Queenie's one terrified cry a dead silence reigned throughout the room. Sydney dropped into a chair, trembling so that she could not stand, and put her hands before her face. Her sin had found her out. Queenie would certainly revenge herself now by revealing her identity. What mercy could she expect from the sister she had hated and tried to murder? "I understand your reluctance to explain yourself now, sir," said the voice of the actress, falling on her ears like the knell of doom. "You would shield your wife!" He did not answer. His head was bowed on his breast, his handsome, high-bred face was pale with emotion. She went on coldly after a moment's pause: "I thank you, Captain Ernscliffe, for the ready hand that struck the poisoned wine from my lips, although my life is so valueless to me that it was scarcely worth the saving. But now will you withdraw and leave me to deal with this lady?" Sydney glanced up through the fingers that hid her shamed face. What did Queenie mean to do? Was it possible that she would not reveal her identity to her husband?