s wife's "sewing room," as it
was called, came the sound of voices. The door was ajar, and from the
crevice a strong light flooded out into the twilight of the hall. Now
entirely mad with jealousy, he softly glided toward the crack, but
before his eyes could further feed his torture, his ears served up a
plenitude, in Helen's voice--that dear, clear, sweet voice that had
sung his child to sleep and----

"Mr. Stillingfleet--my dear Mr. Stillingfleet, if I may be allowed the
liberty----"

"My dearest creature," interrupted a deep voice, muffled, almost as if
by intent disguised, "if it be a liberty to call me dear, I find
myself craving the instant fall of kingdoms."

"La, sir, you confuse me quite!" There was a rustle of silken skirts
and Helen laughed again.

Peering cautiously in, this sight met Robert's bloodshot eyes:
Helen--or at least the fantastic figure which had her voice--stood by
the mantelpiece. The hair was high-rolled and powdered, in it two
nodding white plumes; she wore a yellow brocade gown strangely cut,
long black mitts on her hands, which waved a huge fan coquettishly at
a man--a creature in the costume of Goldsmith's day--who stood near
her, bowing low. On his head was a wig, powdered and in queue, his
face a mask of paint and powder and patches. He was clad in a huge
waistcoat, long coat, knee breeches and hose--_blue_ hose--upon his
comely legs! Putting out his hand toward Helen's, he said with
sickening affectation, seizing her hand and raising it to his lips:

"It's high time we were off to Montague's, my fair H. P. 'Time flies,
death urges, knells call, heaven invites!'"

For an instant a very ancient and honorable desire to enter that room
and violently change the face of several things dominated the
listening husband; that he did not marked the high tide of his nervous
breakdown. A sudden reaction, common to the neurasthenic, swept over
him, and his soul withdrew in anguish from the sickening horror of the
discovery. He crept softly down the stairs, seized hat and coat and
staggered out into the night.

It was five days before Benjamin Bentnor's best detective work
succeeded in finding his brother-in-law in a hall bedroom at an
obscure hotel in Washington, for a strong impulse of duty to be
performed had landed Robert there, although he had completely lost
sight of his mission. When Ben found him, he was seated on the edge of
the bed, his head bowed in his hands.

Bentnor's gentlene