"Oh! Madame De Lisle, forgive him," she cried. "You are the living image of his first wife, whom he adored, and who died at the altar. Your perfect resemblance to her has driven him mad!" He looked from one to the other--the dark, radiant brunette, the lily-white blonde, each so perfect in her type--and his heart sank heavily. Had they conspired to deceive him, or was this wonderful resemblance to his lost bride but a mere coincidence--a will-o'-the-wisp, an _ignis fatuus_, to lead his heart and his reason astray? "Cease, Sydney!" he said sternly. "She cannot deny it, she will not utter such a stupendous falsehood. My heart is too true a monitor to lead me astray! It never throbbed as it does now in the presence of any woman on earth but Queenie Lyle!" How noble and handsome he looked as he stood there, pleading for his love with all his tender, passionate heart shining in his dark eyes. The actress gave one look at him, then turned away and walked to the further end of the room. She could not bear the mute, agonizing appeal in his beautiful, troubled, dark eyes. Sydney sprang to his side and clasped her hands about his arm. "Oh! Lawrence," she cried. "You break my heart! I tremble for your reason. Oh! pray, pray, come away from here! Madame De Lisle is very angry with you for your persistence in your strange mistake. You intrude upon her hours for study and practice. Will you not come away with me?" He looked down at her suspiciously, without stirring from the spot. "Sydney, if indeed I am mistaken," he said, "why are _you_ here? If this lady is not your sister, what have you to do with her? Why," he lowered his voice slightly, "why did you seek to remove her from your path?" Sydney dropped her eyes and turned crimson. "Oh, Lawrence," she said, "she is not my sister, but she is my rival. I know all that passed last night, I know that she has won your heart from me." "It was never yours, Sydney," he answered firmly. "I married you because you loved me, and were unhappy without me; but you never held my heart. I have never loved but one woman on earth. I told you that before I made you my wife." The listener's heart gave one great bound of joy. He loved her still--he had never loved but her. Why should she sacrifice herself and him for the doubtful good of Sydney's happiness? A great wave of pity for herself and for her true, loyal husband swept over her heart. She made a quick step toward him as if to throw herself upon his breast, then shrank back into herself, deterred by the agonised appeal in the eyes of Sydney, who seemed to divine her purpose. "Oh! Lawrence," entreated Sydney, "pray go away from here. Madame De Lisle grows impatient." The actress swept across the room, turned the handle of the door, and held it open. "Mrs. Ernscliffe is right," she said in a cold, hard tone, "I am both weary and impatient. I can bear no more. This trespass on my time and patience is inexcusable. Will it please you to go now, sir?"