You might have heard a pin drop in the room, so utter was the silence that followed Captain Ernscliffe's bold declaration.

Sydney remained crouching in her chair, watching the two chief actors in this drama in real life, with wild, fascinated eyes, feeling that her whole future hung trembling in the balance on the answer that must fall from her sister's lips.

Queenie seemed stricken dumb by the words of Captain Ernscliffe. She stared at him speechlessly, her white teeth buried in her crimson lips, her hands clenched tightly together.

"Queenie, you cannot deny it," he went on passionately, seeing that she could not, or would not speak. "Although I thought you dead, although the last time I beheld your sweet face it was under the shadow of the coffin-lid, yet I could swear that the lost bride whom I deemed an angel in Heaven, still walks the earth under the name of Reine De Lisle!"

Still she did not answer, still she stood there pale and statue-like, all the life that was left in her seeming concentrated in the burning gaze she fixed upon his face.

He ventured to come a little nearer, he touched the white, jeweled hands that were locked so tightly together. He altogether forgot Sydney crouching silently in the great arm-chair. He took up a long, curling tress of the golden hair and pressed it to his lips.

"My darling!" he cried, "speak to me! Tell me by what strange mystery you were resurrected and restored to my heart! Why have you remained so long away from me?"

The touch of his hands and lips seemed to galvanize her into life. She pushed him away and sprang to Sydney's side.

"Madam," she cried indignantly, "what ails your husband? Is he mad? Why does he claim me as his wife?"

Sydney's heart gave one wild, passionate throb of joy. Queenie had declared herself. She would renounce her husband! Taking the cue instantly, she sprang up and fixed a pleading gaze on the beautiful white face of the actress.

"Oh! Madame De Lisle, forgive him," she cried. "You are the living image of his first wife, whom he adored, and who died at the altar. Your perfect resemblance to her has driven him mad!"

He looked from one to the other—the dark, radiant brunette, the lily-white blonde, each so perfect in her type—and his heart sank heavily.

Had they conspired to deceive him, or was this wonderful resemblance to his lost bride but a mere coincidence—a will-o'-the-wisp, an ignis fatuus, to lead his heart and his reason astray?

"Cease, Sydney!" he said sternly. "She cannot deny it, she will not utter such a stupendous falsehood. My heart is too true a monitor to lead me astray! It never throbbed as it does now in the presence of any woman on earth but Queenie Lyle!"

How noble and handsome he looked as he stood there, pleading for his love with all his tender, passionate heart shining in his dark eyes.

The actress gave one look at him, then turned away and walked to the further end of the room.

She could not bear the mute, agonizing appeal in his beautiful, troubled, dark eyes. Sydney sprang to his side and clasped her hands about his arm.

"Oh! Lawrence," she cried. "You break my heart! I tremble for your reason. Oh! pray, pray, come away from here! Madame De Lisle is very angry with you for your persistence in your strange mistake. You intrude upon her hours for study and practice. Will you not come away with me?"

He looked down at her suspiciously, without stirring from the spot.

"Sydney, if indeed I am mistaken," he said, "why are you here? If this lady is not your sister, what have you to do with her? Why," he lowered his voice slightly, "why did you seek to remove her from your path?"

Sydney dropped her eyes and turned crimson.

"Oh, Lawrence," she said, "she is not my sister, but she is my rival. I know all that passed last night, I know that she has won your heart from me."

"It was never yours, Sydney," he answered firmly. "I married you because you loved me, and were unhappy without me; but you never held my heart. I have never loved but one woman on earth. I told you that before I made you my wife."

The listener's heart gave one great bound of joy. He loved her still—he had never loved but her. Why should she sacrifice herself and him for the doubtful good of Sydney's happiness?

A great wave of pity for herself and for her true, loyal husband swept over her heart.

She made a quick step toward him as if to throw herself upon his breast, then shrank back into herself, deterred by the agonised appeal in the eyes of Sydney, who seemed to divine her purpose.

"Oh! Lawrence," entreated Sydney, "pray go away from here. Madame De Lisle grows impatient."

The actress swept across the room, turned the handle of the door, and held it open.

"Mrs. Ernscliffe is right," she said in a cold, hard tone, "I am both weary and impatient. I can bear no more. This trespass on my time and patience is inexcusable. Will it please you to go now, sir?"

Lawrence Ernscliffe advanced and stood before her in the doorway. She could not bear the passionate pain and reproach in the beautiful eyes he fastened on her face. Her gaze wavered and fell before his.

"Queenie," he said, slowly and sadly, "you have not deceived me! You cannot deny that you are my own! Your soul is too white and pure to suffer such a falsehood to stain your lips! Yet you will not let me claim you, you are sacrificing your happiness and mine for a mere chimera! I understand it all. Sydney has asked for the sacrifice and you have made it. It is for her sake!"

He bent down, lifted a spray of white hyacinth that had fallen from the lace on her breast to the floor, pressed it to his lips, and silently withdrew.

Queenie closed the door upon his retreating form and turned back to her sister.

"He was right," she said slowly, "I have sacrificed my happiness and his for your sake, Sydney."

Sydney lifted her heavy eyes and looked at her without speaking. Queenie went on slowly: "This is my revenge, Sydney: you have scorned and insulted me, you have branded me with a cruel name, you have tried to poison me—me, the little sister you loved and petted when we were children at our mother's knee! Yet, for the sake of those old days, and the love we had for each other then, I forgive you—nay, more, I make the sacrifice you were cruel enough to ask of me. I resign the one being whom I have sought for years—the one thing dear to me upon earth. I give you the pulse of my heart, the life of my life, the soul of my soul!"

Cold and white as marble in her sublime self-abnegation, she pointed to the door.

"Go," she said, "I can bear no more!"

Sydney obeyed her without a word.

Then the beautiful queen of tragedy, the lovely woman who counted her admirers by the hundreds, knelt down upon the floor, and lifted her white, despairing face to Heaven.

"Oh! God," she moaned, "If indeed I am a sinner, as she said, surely this great and bitter sacrifice for another's sake must win for me the pity and pardon of Heaven!"