Ten minutes after Lottie fell senseless beside the stone steps of the Palace Augustus, a slight, girlish figure came quickly down the street. It was dressed in black, the only spot of relief being the fur lining of the hood which almost concealed her face. Though she was quite alone, she walked with a fearless and confident bearing, like one whose safety was insured. As she came near the gateway of the palace, a man, bearing the unmistakable signs of a footpad, approached her stealthily, but after a glance at the half-shrouded face, he made a bow, and spreading out his hands toward her, with respectful and almost awed deprecation, stood aside to let her pass.

Margaret, for she it was, returned the salutation with a gentle inclination of her head, and went on her way.

As she walked along in the starlight, a strange feeling of peacefulness, that for all its serenity had something of elation in it, pervaded her. She had just come from visiting a child down with the fever, which is as characteristic of Naples as its bay, or its volcano, and the blessings which the mother of the little one had called down upon Margaret's head, seemed to have borne fruit.

To-night, as she looked up at the stars, she could bring herself to think of Blair with a feeling of forgiveness and tenderness which she had not, as yet, been capable of.

In this life he could never be her own again, never; but perhaps in that mysterious after-life toward which they were all drifting, he would, in some way, come back to her. That he had loved her, even while sinning against her, she felt convinced; and to-night, as she walked through the silent streets, his face came before her, and his voice rose in her memory with a strange distinctness. In fancy she was back again at Leyton Court and at Appleford, and a reflection of these times, in all their glorious coloring of happiness, fell upon her spirit in the dark street, and illuminated it with a curious sadness that had a tinge of joy in it.

"Oh, Blair, my love, my love!" she murmured, looking up at the stars, very much as he had done about an hour before, "we shall never meet again here on earth, but who knows what may await us up there?"

As she lowered her eyes with a gentle sigh, she saw the figure of Lottie huddled up in a scarcely distinguishable mass beside the doorway of the Augustus Palace; she stopped immediately, and kneeling beside the unconscious girl, spoke to her gently. At first she thought that the girl was dead, but she detected a faint movement of the heart, and raising her head upon her knee, she moistened her lips with some eau-de-Cologne.

The light was so dim that she did not recognize her, and she was loosening the worn shawl and chafing the thin hands that hung limply at her side, when a man and woman came down the street.

Margaret beckoned to them. After a glance, they were keeping on their way; but she called to them, and hearing her voice their manner changed, and they hurried forward.

"A poor girl who has fallen in a swoon," explained Margaret.

"Looks like dead, signorina," said the man, shrugging his shoulders Italian fashion. "Best fetch the police: dead people give trouble to the most innocent."

"Oh, no, no; she is not dead, indeed!" said Margaret, earnestly.

"That's not what you said when the signorina nursed you through the ague, ungrateful pig!" exclaimed the man's wife, with charming candor. "What shall we do, lady?"

"If I could get her somewhere out of the street," said Margaret, anxiously. "I think she has fainted from hunger."

"Like enough," said the man. "It's a most popular complaint, lady!"

"I'll take her to our rooms, signorina," said the woman promptly. "Lift her, Tonelli!"

The husband obeyed with half sullen resignation, and the pair carried Lottie to a house in one of the small streets. They laid her on the bed; and Margaret, after dispatching the man to her house for wine and food, and setting the woman to light a fire, threw her fur cloak over the girl, and then, and not till then, carried a light close to her.

As she did so the lamp nearly fell to the ground, for she recognized in the girl she had rescued, the woman who had dealt her the blow that had wrecked her life. There, lying motionless and senseless, was Blair's real wife!

She set the lamp down and staggered back to a chair.

"The signorina is tired and ill!" exclaimed the woman of the house, gazing at her sympathetically. "Will not the signorina leave the girl to my care, and go home to rest? You wear yourself out for the poor, lady!"

"No, no!" said Margaret, fighting against the weakness which threatened to master her. "It—it is only a little faintness. Is the fire all right? Yes? Then will you go down and warm some of the wine Tonelli will bring, and bring it up to me?"

The woman left the room, and Margaret once more bent over the unconscious Lottie.

Yes, it was the same woman! But how came she to be lying in the streets of Naples, in rags, and evidently half-famished? Had Blair deserted her again?

All the while she was pondering she was using means to bring warmth and life back, and presently the woman of the house came up with the hot wine.

Margaret succeeded in getting some through the white lips, and after awhile Lottie opened her eyes. They rested upon the lovely face for some seconds vacantly, but presently a gleam of intelligence shot across them, and she tried to raise herself upon her elbow, staring wildly at what she took to be a vision.

"Do not move," said Margaret, softly. "You are weak and ill. Drink some of this wine."

Lottie took the cup and drained it feverishly.

"Give me some more," she gasped. "Give me anything to wake me from this dream. Do you hear? Wake me, or I shall go mad! I tell you I can see her standing there in front of me!" and she pointed to Margaret wildly. "I've often fancied I've seen her, but never so plainly as now. Wake me! for Heaven's sake, wake me!"

"Try and keep quiet," said Margaret, soothingly; but at the sound of her voice Lottie only grew more excited.

"There! I can hear her speaking! What is it she says? I know I did it! I plead guilty, my lord! But it was not me only. Where is he? Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord. Send me to prison, if you like, but don't let him go scot-free. He is worse than I am! It was he who put me up to it—and now he leaves me to starve! Yes, he did! He threatened me, told me that he'd have me charged, and that he'd swear he knew nothing about it. Where is Austin Ambrose? He is worse than I am, my lord!"

Then she sank down, as if exhausted; but presently she started up with a cry of terror and clutched at Margaret's arm.

"Blair! Blair!" she shrieked, and at the name poor Margaret winced and could scarcely suppress a cry. "Blair will be killed! I heard them say so! Quick! Find him—stop the fight! The prince will kill him! Blair is no match for him—I heard them say so. Oh, for the love of Heaven, don't stand there doing nothing, but find them and stop them!"

The woman of the house crept to the bed, and looking down curiously shrugged her shoulders.

"She is English, lady, is she not? She is in the fever and raves; is it not so? What is it she says?"

"I—I am afraid she is delirious," said Margaret, scarcely knowing what she answered. "Will you go for the English doctor and beg him to come to me at once?"

Lottie caught the word doctor, and raising herself on her elbow, held out her hand imploringly.

"Oh, never mind me!" she panted. "What does it matter about me? It's Blair—Blair you must save! Don't you believe me? I tell you I heard them talking about it before I fell—where was it?" and she put her hand to her head and sank back with a groan.

Margaret sat beside the bed, with one of the girl's wasted, burning hands held tightly in her own.

She could not think—the meeting was too strange and mysterious to permit of her doing that—but she sat in a kind of dull stupor, even after the doctor had come and gone again.

The night passed away, and morning dawned, and with the first streak in the east Lottie awoke.

That she was no longer delirious was evident by her eyes, but she turned pale and started, as they fell upon Margaret.

"It was no dream, then!" she said, in a low voice, covering her face with her hands. "It was really you who sat beside me?"

"Yes, it was I," said Margaret, sadly and shyly, for it Came flashing upon her that this woman, after all, was Blair's wife. "I am glad you are better. I will go now," and she rose, a little stiffly.

Lottie put out her hand.

"No—stay," she said, with a frightened, nervous glance. "I—I have something to tell you! Oh, if I only knew how! Don't be angry with me more than you can help. Punish me if you like, but don't say much to me. I've done the cruellest thing that ever one woman did to another, and I deserve to be shot——" At the word she started up, and flung out her arms. "What is the time? is it morning? Not morning! Do not tell me that! Oh, great Heaven, how long have I been lying here? Oh, too late, too late!" and she rocked herself to and fro.

"Why are you too late, and for what?"

"To save him! To save Blair! Didn't I tell you? It seems to me that I have been raving about it for hours! He and the Prince Rivani are to fight this morning. This morning! It is light now!"

"Blair—Lord Leyton; your—your husband!" said Margaret, holding on to the bed to support herself.

"My husband!" Lottie almost shrieked; then she laughed wildly and hysterically. "No! not my husband, but yours!"

"Mine!" said Margaret, her eyes fixed on the flushed face and desperate black eyes.

"Yes; yours, yours, yours!" cried Lottie. "Oh, can't you understand? No! You are so good and true, that you cannot believe there are such fiends in the world as me and Austin Ambrose!"

"Austin Ambrose!" was all Margaret could falter.

"Austin Ambrose! The cruellest, cleverest scoundrel on earth!" cried Lottie, tearing at her clothes and flinging them on as she spoke. "It was he who tempted me to go down to that place in Devonshire, and pass myself off as Blair's wife——"

"Pass yourself off as——Then—then you are not his wife?"

"No, and never was!" cried Lottie.

"Then——Oh, stop!—give me a minute! No!—don't touch me! I'm not going to faint!" for Lottie had sprung forward to catch her. "I will not faint; only give me a minute. I am Blair's wife!—Blair's wife! Say it again!" and the poor soul, white and red by turns, held up her hands to the wickedly weak and erring Lottie.

"I'll say it a thousand times; I'll beg your forgiveness on my knees; I'll do anything to atone for what I've done—but not now!" she exclaimed fiercely. "For while we are talking here, murder's being done; for it is murder to pit a man against Prince Rivani, and that's what they have done with Blair—Lord Ferrers, I mean!"

"Ah!" Margaret caught her breath, and pressed her hand to her heart for a moment; then she snatched up her cloak and flung it round her, and sprung to the door.

Lottie had just succeeded in getting on her ragged clothing, and put out a hand, humbly and imploringly, to stop her.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

Margaret put her hand away with simple dignity, and, looking at her, replied:

"To save my husband!"

Mr. Austin Ambrose left the boudoir a happier man than he had ever been before during the whole course of his life.

There is a keener joy in the anticipation of success and victory which the actual success and victory themselves cannot produce. In his mind's eye he saw himself—as he had pictured to Violet—lying at her feet in some sunny, vine-clad villa in Spain. Those two by themselves, with no one to share or dispute his claim to her! With Blair either dead of Prince Rivani's rapier thrust, or away in England with Margaret! Yes, success had come to him at last. Not only would he have won the woman he loved with a passion which he had nourished and fostered and secretly fed during all those long and bitter months, but he would have secured wealth as well, for he had not managed Blair's estate for Blair's benefit alone, but had contrived to feather his own nest pretty considerably; besides, Violet still held her own money, and it would now become his!

He was so filled with the ecstasy of anticipation that he could have stopped on the great staircase, and raised the house with his exultant laughter, had there not been still something to do before he could admit that all was ready.

Always looking forward to this supreme moment, he had arranged with one of the drivers of the pair-horse carriages to expect a summons from him, and, slipping on a cloak, he went out to the corner of the street and gave the man his instructions. He was to wait at the corner of the cathedral until he, Austin Ambrose, arrived with a lady. The man was then to drive to the station as if for his life, and regardless of anything. Then he returned to the palace, and hastily packed a small portmanteau. He had scarcely finished it when Blair's valet knocked at the door, with General Trelani's card.

Austin Ambrose slipped on a dressing gown over the traveling suit, for which he had exchanged his other clothes, and received the general with calm serenity and dignity.

"You expected me, doubtless, and I will not detain you with apologies for the lateness of the hour," said the general, a stiff and soldier-like old man, to whom duels were very ordinary matters indeed. "I may add that my principal, Prince Rivani, will not accept an apology."

Austin Ambrose bowed.

"The Earl of Ferrers has no intention of offering one," he said, quietly.

The general inclined his head.

"As the person challenged, the earl has the choice of weapons," he said.

"Though, like most Englishmen, I am unfamiliar with the etiquette of the duello, I am aware of that. Lord Ferrers chooses swords."

The general looked rather surprised.

"Indeed! In honor, I am compelled to remind you, sir, that his highness is skilled with the rapier; if pistols would be considered more fair——"

"Thanks, general, but the earl has made his choice."

"Then nothing remains to settle but the hour and place," said the general, suavely.

"Will half-past five be too early?" asked Austin Ambrose.

"No hour will be too early for us, sir," said the general, blandly, "and I would recommend the field behind the hospital. It is quiet and secluded at that hour——"

Austin Ambrose assented, and the general looked at his watch.

"My mission is finished, sir," he said. "Pray convey my devoted respects to the earl."

Austin Ambrose bowed him out, and then returned to his room and completed his preparations. He sat down and wrote a short note.

"The meeting is for half-past five in the field behind the hospital. Do not wait for me. I have gone into the town and will join you to the minute."

He rang the bell and gave the note to Blair's valet, then locking the door, flung himself on the bed and closed his eyes, trying to force himself to sleep, but the effort failed for a time.

His acute brain was still at work picturing the incidents as he imagined them. At half-past five he and Violet would be speeding over the frontier. Blair would go to meet Prince Rivani; they would wait a quarter of an hour, half, perhaps; and then, the prince growing impatient, the general would offer to act as second for Blair; the two men would fight, and there would be no doubt as to which would fall. With pistols, Blair, who was a good shot, would stand something of a chance; but with swords, Rivani, whose skill was proverbial, must win. With his eyes closed he could see Blair lying stretched out upon the ground, with a thin streak of crimson creeping snake-like across the breast of his shirt, and at the vision a fiendish smile of satisfaction curved his lips.

Then he must have slept, for presently the sound of a church bell smote upon his ear, and with a start he sprung from the bed, and stealthily drew the curtains a little apart.

Yes, the dawn was breaking, the hour of his triumph was approaching.

Wrapping himself in his cloak, and with a fur over his arm for Violet, he caught up his valise, and with cat-like step made his way to the boudoir.

The door was ajar, as he had left it a few hours ago, but he paused and softly whispered her name.

There was no answer, and he crept in.

He had expected to find her there ready dressed, and waiting for him, but the room was empty. He went to the door of the bedroom and, knocking gently, cautiously called to her.

Still there was no answer, and after a moment's hesitation, he tried the door. It was unlocked, and he opened it and entered. The room was dimly lighted by a small shaded lamp, and for the moment he could distinguish nothing clearly, but the next he saw a figure lying on the bed. It was she. She was lying as if she had fallen backward in a fit of exhaustion, her pale face turned upward, one arm hanging by her side, the other thrown across the bed.

"Asleep? My poor darling!" he murmured. "But I must wake her! There is no time to be lost!"

Still she did not move, and he took her hand.

Something—its icy coldness, perhaps, or its irresponsive lifelessness—sent an awful pang of fear through him that was like the stab of a knife.

Still holding her hand, he caught up the lamp and held it above her head, his eyes scanning her face.

The next instant the lamp dropped from his grasp, and with a stifled cry, he reeled like a drunken man, and fell at her feet!