and turned away.

"What is it?" the baronet repeated, in a dull, thick voice. "Where is
my wife?"

"Sir Everard, I--I don't know how--she--she is not in the house."

"Where is she?"

"She is--in the grounds."

"Where?"

"In the Beech Walk."

"With whom?"

"With Mr. Parmalee."

There was dead pause. Sybilla clasped her hands and looked imploringly
up in his face.

"Don't be angry with us, Sir Everard; we could not help seeing them. I
lost a locket, and Edwards came to help me look for it. It was by the
merest chance we came upon them in the Beech Walk."

"I am not angry. Did they see you?"

"No, Sir Everard."

"Did you hear what they said?"

"No, Sir Everard; we would not have listened. They were talking; my
lady seemed dreadfully agitated, appealing to him as it appeared, while
he was cool and indifferent. Just before we came away we saw her give
him all the money in her purse. Ah, here she is now! For pity's sake,
do not betray us, Sir Everard!"

She flitted away like a swift, noiseless ghost, closely followed by the
valet. And an instant later Lady Kingsland wild and pale, and shrouded
in a long mantle turned to enter her dressing-room, and found herself
face to face with her wronged husband.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE BREAKING OF THE STORM.

She looked at him and recoiled with a cry of dismay. He stood before
her so ghastly, so awful, that with a blind, unthinking motion of
intense terror she put out both hands as if to keep him off.

"You have reason to fear me!" he said, in a hoarse, unnatural voice.
"Wives have been murdered for less than this!"

Sybilla and Edwards heard the ominous words, and looked blankly in each
other's faces. They heard no more. The baronet caught his wife's
wrist in a grasp of iron, drew her into the dressing-room, and closed
the door. He stood with his back to it, gazing at her, his blue eyes
filled with lurid rage.

"Where have you been?"

He asked the question in a voice more terrible from its menacing calm
than any wild outburst of fury.

"In the Beech Walk," she answered, promptly.

"With whom?"

"With Mr. Parmalee."

Her glance never fell. She looked at him proudly, unquailingly, full
in the face. The look in his flaming eyes, the tone of his ominous
voice, were bitterly insulting, and with insult her imperious spirit
rose.

"And you dare stand before me--you dare look me in the face," he said,
"and tell me this?"

"I dare!" she