saw that it was a
genuine certificate of marriage between Archibald-Alexander-John Scott,
Marquis of Arondelle, and, Rose Cameron, signed by James Smith, Rector of
St. Margaret's Church, Westminster, and witnessed by John Thomas Price,
Sexton, and Ann Gray, Pew-opener.

"The man must have been mad! mad! to have done this, in the first
instance, and then--done what he has just this morning," moaned Salome,
as she returned the certificate to the woman.

"My lady, he thought as he had got Rose Cameron lagged, he would never be
found out. Here, my lady, is the first letter he wrote to her after they
were married. I reckon it is a foolish love-letter enough, not worth
reading; but what I want you to notice is, his handwriting, and the way
he commences his letter--'My Darling Wife,' and the way he ends it--'Your
Devoted Husband, Arondelle.'"

"I recognize the handwriting, and I note the signature. I do not wish to
read the letter," muttered Salome, waving it away.

"Well, then, my lady, here is a photograph of his grace, given to his
wife a few days before their marriage," said the widow, offering a small
card.

Salome took it, looked at it, and dropped it with a long, low wail of
anguish.

It was a duplicate of one presented to herself by the Duke of Hereward,
from the same negative.

Silence again fell between the lady and her visitor until it was broken
by a rap at the door, and the voice of the maid without, saying:

"Beg pardon, your grace, but Lady Belgrade desires me to say that you
have but fifteen minutes to catch the train."

"Very well," replied the young duchess; but her voice sounded strangely
unlike her own.

"Your ladyship will not go on your bridal tour?" said the visitor,
imploringly.

"No, I shall not go on a bridal tour. How can I?--I am not a bride. I am
not a wife. I am not the Duchess of Hereward. I am just Salome Levison,
as I was before that false marriage ceremony was performed over me! But
do you be discreet. Say nothing below stairs of what has passed between
us here," said Salome, speaking now with such amazing self-control that
no one could have guessed the anguish and despair of her soul but for the
marble whiteness and rigidity of her face.

"Be sure I shall not say one word, my lady," answered Mrs. Brown.

There was another low rap at the door, and again the voice of the maid
was heard:

"Please your grace, what shall I say to Lady Belgrade?"

"Tell her ladyship that I am ne