As she read her face grew pallid to grayness, her eyes dull, her lips drawn with pain; she shuddered like one in an ague chill, moaning: “Who would have dreamed of this? Surely he was in terrible haste to be on with the new love!” She dropped the letter from her shaking hand to the floor, and spurned it with her dainty foot as if it had been a serpent. Surely its contents had not been pleasant. Her eyes fell on the other letter, and she started violently. It was in the same familiar writing, and this time addressed to Miss Gipsy Darke. “My God! Can I bear any more?” groaned Lelia, madly tearing it open. The enclosure contained no letter, just a short poem. “TO G. “By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing, Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne; And by those lips, which give whate’er thou’rt saying-- Or grave or gay, a music of its own-- A music far beyond all minstrel’s playing. I love but thee--I love but thee! “By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes, As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow; And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses A hue too bright to bless this world below, And only fit to dwell on Eden’s roses, I love but thee--I love but thee! “LAURIE.” A sound like a serpent’s hiss came from the writhing lips of Lelia: “It is well that she is dead already, or the crime would lie before me yet! I can never repent it now--never; though my triumph doom my soul to Hades!” A rap on her door made her start guiltily to her feet, snatching up the letters and hiding them away. Then she turned the door-knob with a shaking hand. It was only a servant with a telegram from General Willoughby. He would arrive with Mrs. Ritchie on the noon train. Not a word of Laurie. So he would not come. She gave curt directions for a carriage to be sent for her mother and the general. Then she shut herself in again with her bitter thoughts, her jealous despair. The most terrible thing in the world had happened. She had lost Laurie’s love! And now, when it was forever too late, she realized it was all her own fault. How kind and patient and tender he had always been! As for her, she had been proud and jealous and domineering, always ruling her noble lover with an iron rod. She had made a mistake, but she would turn over a new leaf if she ever got him back. Oh, why had he not come? Surely he did not know yet about the tragedy at The Crags, about the disappearance of Gipsy Darke. If he had known that he would surely have hastened back to seek a clue to Gipsy’s murderer. Lelia shuddered with fear, then laughed hysterically: