talking in the Beech Walk."

Both paused and stood stock still. Borne unmistakably on the night
wind, voices came to them--the soft voice of a woman, the deeper tones
of a man.

"One of the maids, I dare say," Sybilla said, carelessly, "holding
tryst with her lover."

"No," said the valet; "not one of the maids would set foot hinside this
walk hafter nightfall for a kingdom! They say it's 'aunted. Come
forward a little, and let's see if we can't 'ave a look at the talkers.
Whoever it is, he's hup to no good, I'll be bound!"

Very softly, stealing on tiptoe, the twain approached the entrance of
the avenue. The watery moonlight breaking through a rift in the
clouds, shone out for an instant above the trees, and showed them a man
and a woman, standing face to face, earnestly talking. Mr. Edwards
barely repressed a cry of consternation.

"Good Lord!" he gasped; "it's my lady!"

"Hush!" cried Sybilla. "Who is the man?"

As if some inward prescience told him they were there, the man lifted
his hat at that very instant, and plainly showed his face.

"The Hamerican, by Jove!" gasped the horrified valet. Sybilla Silver's
eyes blazed like coals of fire, and the demoniac smile, that made her
brilliant beauty hideous, gleamed on her lips.

She grasped the man's arm with slender fingers of iron, and stood
gloating over the scene.

Not one word could they hear--the distance was too great--but they
could see my lady's passionate gestures; they could see the white hands
clasp and cover her face; they could see her wildly excited, even in
that dim light. And once they saw her take from her pocket her purse,
and pour a handful of shining sovereigns into Mr. Parmalee's extended
hand.

Nearly an hour they had stood, petrified gazers, when they were aroused
as by a thunder-clap. A horse came galloping furiously up the avenue,
as only one rider ever galloped there. Sybilla Silver just repressed a
scream of exultation--no more.

"It is Sir Everard Kingsland!" she cried, in a whisper of fierce
delight, "in time to catch his sick wife in the Beech Walk with the man
he hates!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

MY LADY'S SECRET.

It was quite dark before prudent Mr. Parmalee, notwithstanding
Sybilla's assurance that the baronet was away from home, ventured
within the great entrance gates of the park. He was not, as he said
himself, a coward altogether; but he had a lively recollection of the
pummeling he had already received,