found out
proof enough. The withdrawal of her money would of itself be enough
to show Hilda's complicity; but her assumption of the role of Lady
Chetwynde was too audacious for a true wife to bear unmoved or
unconvinced.

But these things were inexplicable. He could not find even a
plausible solution for such difficult problems. His excited brain
reeled beneath the weight of puzzles so intricate and so complicated.
He was compelled to dismiss them all from his thoughts. But though he
dismissed such thoughts as these, there were others which gave
occupation to his whole mind, and these at last excited his chief
interest. First among these was the thought of Hilda. That very
afternoon she might be coming out to carry out her plan of visiting
Obed Chute, and confounding Lord Chetwynde. She would go out knowing
nothing of that one whom she had doomed to death, but who was now
there to confront her. She would go out, and for what? What? Could it
be aught else than ruin, utter and absolute?

This was his last dark terror--all fear for himself had passed away.
He feared for her, and for her alone. His love for her, and his
devotion to her, which had been so often and so conspicuously tested,
which had sent him on such tedious and such perilous enterprises,
now, when all was over with himself, and not a ray of hope remained,
made him rise above self and selfish considerations, and regard her
prospects and her safety alone. The thought of her going out to the
villa in utter ignorance of this new and terrific truth was
intolerable. Yet what could he do? Nothing; and the fact of his own
utter helplessness was maddening at such a time as this. He watched
through the window, scanning all the passers-by with feverish
anxiety, which was so manifest that at length Obed noticed it, and,
supposing that he was meditating some new plan of escape nearer the
city, sternly reprimanded him, and drew the blinds so that nothing
could be seen. And thus, with close-drawn blinds and in silence, they
drove toward the city; so that if Hilda had gone along the road,
Gualtier could not have seen her.

At the same time Obed, in thus shutting out Gualtier from all sight
of the outside world, shut out himself also. And though Lord
Chetwynde may have passed on his way to the villa, yet he could not
have been seen by the occupants of the brougham, nor could he have
seen them.

At last they reached Florence, and Obed drove up to the prefecture of
th