It was very fortunate for Virgie that she had a little one at this time, else she would have deemed life scarcely worth the living, so stunned and crushed was she by the terrible blow that had fallen upon her.

For two long hours, after reading that letter from Lady Linton, and the paper containing that paragraph of William Heath's marriage, she lay as if paralyzed upon her bed. One would hardly believe that she lived at all, but for that look of unutterable woe in her eyes and the expression of agony about her mouth.

But she was aroused at last to a sense of her duties and responsibilities as a mother, by the crying of little Virgie in the outer room; and yet that cry was like another dagger plunged into her heart, for it reminded her that, if the dreadful things which she had been told were true, her whole future was dishonored--that she was a betrayed and deserted woman and her child nameless.

"Oh, Heaven! it cannot be!" she cried, lifting her arms with a gesture of despair and locking her fingers in a convulsive clasp above her head, while her mind went back over the past and reviewed every event that had occurred since the beginning of her acquaintance with Sir William Heath.

She had believed in him so thoroughly, he had seemed so noble and true, so entirely above all deception and double dealing. He had appeared to love her so devotedly, had been so proud of her as the future mistress of his beautiful home, and so supremely happy in the anticipation of the coming of their little one. He had hoped for a son and heir, and yet he had expressed no disappointment upon learning that their child was a daughter; he had welcomed the little stranger most tenderly in his letter and fondly named her, to please himself, for her mother.

He had seemed so impatient and regretful at the thought of leaving her so long alone, and had promised to come to her the moment that he could safely leave his mother.

All this made it very difficult for Virgie to believe in his apparent perfidy and treachery, and yet the evidence against him seemed so overwhelming that she was convinced in spite of herself.

She did not dream of a plot against her, for she could not conceive of any motive for one; but his letters had suddenly ceased and she could not believe accident had caused it, when she had written again and again telling him of it and pleading for but a word from him.

Then she had heard that story of the engagement to Margaret Stanhope, then the account of the marriage at Heathdale, by Lady Linton, who appeared entirely ignorant of her existence even; and taking all this into consideration, together with the notice which had appeared in the paper sent to Mrs. Farnum she felt obliged to accept the fact of Sir William's intentional treachery and desertion.

Yet in the face of everything she clung to the conviction that she was a lawful wife--that her child was the heiress of Heathdale; but the difficulty was to prove it.

"Prove it? I will prove it," she cried, and at once all that was resolute in Virginia Heath's character began to struggle to assert itself, and she went forth from her chamber, at that cry from little Virgie, with an unflinching purpose written upon her heart.

The nurse cried out in alarm as she saw her white face and sunken eyes.

"You are ill, madam," she exclaimed. "Go back to bed--the baby will do well enough with me."

"No, I am not ill," Virgie answered, as she took her little one, but she spoke in a strained, unnatural tone, adding, "I would like you to go to Mrs. Farnum's door and say that I desire a 'few moments' interview with her."

The woman went to do her bidding, but muttered with a troubled look:

"These English people seem to bring nothing but sorrow and mischief to the poor thing, in spite of their sweet ways and honeyed speeches; I wish they'd clear out--and whatever her husband can mean to leave her here alone so long and not a line to tell her why is more'n I can make out."

Mrs. Farnum obeyed Virgie's request with some misgivings; but she saw at once upon entering the room that the young wife believed the very worst, and she was half frightened at the result of her work.

Virgie arose as she entered, her baby clasped close in her arms, and handed her the letter which she had sent her to read.

"Here is your letter, Mrs. Farnum," she said, with a cold dignity that awed her visitor, "and you will find the note inclosed with it. Please be particular to have it returned to the one who sent it."

"But, my dear, will you not need it yourself?" interrupted the woman with assumed kindness.

Virgie's lips curled.

"It was an unpardonable insult to offer it to me," she said, with spirit. "I cannot understand how they dared to send it to me in any such way; indeed, I cannot understand a good many things that have come to me through you. If Sir William Heath has wilfully done me this irreparable injury he might at least have been man enough to strike the blow himself, rather than employ women to be his emissaries."

Mrs. Farnum winced.

"Ah! but you forget--"

"I forget nothing; do you suppose that I could?" cried Virgie, sharply, "but I might at least have been spared this last indignity--to offer me a paltry hundred pounds when he has a fortune in his hands belonging to me."

"A fortune! I did not suppose--I did not know that you had any money," stammered Mrs. Farnum, looking blank.

"My father left me a good many thousands of dollars when he died; it was all settled upon me at the time of my marriage, but Sir William Heath took charge of it and has it now. He deposited five thousand dollars in a bank here for my use, while he should be away, and the most of that remains; but there is much more that rightly belongs to me," Virgie explained.

"Then this hundred pounds surely is your due," Mrs. Farnum said, as she drew it from the envelope and held it out to the young wife.

Virgie drew back haughtily.

"Do you suppose that I would accept as charity a paltry sum like that?--for Lady Linton sent it as such, and as a sort of remuneration for what I suffer. It is an outrage which I cannot brook, and I am amazed at the audacity that prompted it."

So was Mrs. Farnum amazed, and she saw at once that Lady Linton had unwittingly committed a great blunder. She had never dreamed that Virgie had had money at the time of her marriage, and she imagined that Lady Linton was also ignorant that her brother had taken back to England a fortune belonging to the girl whom they were thus seeking to wrong.

Matters were getting complicated, and she almost wished that she had never allowed herself to become involved in them.

"You should have kept your marriage certificate," she faltered, "every wife should do that--then you could have proved your claim."

"I shall prove it yet," Virgie declared, in a clear, decisive voice. "Do you imagine I am going to sit tamely down and allow a stigma to rest upon this innocent child if there is any power on earth to prevent it? In spite of all that you have told me, or all that your friends have written, I know that I am Sir William Heath's lawful wife. If he committed a rash and impulsive act, and one which he regrets now, while he was in America and while he was bound by other ties in England he must suffer the consequences. I cannot understand how he has dared to perpetrate such a farce, were he a thousand times engaged to Miss Stanhope; how he has dared to so wrong and compromise one of his own countrywomen, for, just so sure as we both live, it will all be exposed sooner or later. All this I will do for the sake of my child; then----"

"Then?" repeated Mrs. Farnum, leaning eagerly toward the resolute girl.

"Then I will repudiate him. I will never look upon his face again. I will give him his freedom--will divorce myself from him; and then, if the woman who now believes herself to be his wife wishes it, or will accept it, he can make the tie between them legal."

"You will obtain a divorce?" said her companion, with an exultant thrill.

This was something she had never thought of before She and Lady Linton had both hoped to estrange this fond couple, then make Sir William believe in his wife's infidelity, and work upon his feelings and pride until he should be willing to seek a divorce; but they had never imagined that Virgie would be the one to suggest such a measure. Such a preceding on her part would wonderfully facilitate matters, and Mrs. Farnum, who a few minutes previous began to be disheartened, was greatly encouraged.

"Exactly," Virgie replied. "Do you imagine that I desire to hold Sir William Heath unwillingly bound to me? Do you think that I would ever have consented to become his wife if I had known that any one had a prior claim upon him? But, are you sure that he was engaged to Miss Stanhope before he came to America?" the young wife asked, as doubt again arose in her mind.

"Yes; Will and Margie have been betrothed for years--ten, at least, I should say. Did you not read it for yourself in Lady Linton's letter?" Mrs. Farnum returned; but there was a vivid flush on her cheek as she told the wretched lie, even while she was literally speaking the truth.

A convulsion of pain passed over Virgie's face.

"True; but it is all so strange," she said, wearily. "And I suppose--she loves him?"

"I believe her life would be ruined if anything should happen to part them," said the woman, ruthlessly.

Any icy shiver ran over Virgie from head to foot, and a low moan escaped her lips.

No one cared for her ruined life; it was nothing that she was parted forever from the man she adored.

"I will not part them," she said, in a hollow tone; "but--"

"Well?" inquired Mrs. Farnum, with a painful thrill, as she paused on the word, with a threatening intonation.

"A day of reckoning will surely come for him," Virgie answered, firmly; "for, if this child lives, she will one day make her appearance at Heathdale and claim her heritage. There may be other children, but she will have the first right there. Tell your Lady Linton this--tell her that 'that girl,' of whom she wrote so slightingly and heartlessly, will live to educate her child for her position as the mistress of her 'proud ancestral home;' tell her to warn her brother that the day of retribution will not fail to overtake him."

Virgie was regally beautiful as she stood there before her enemy and pronounced this stern prophecy. There was not an atom of color in her face, but her figure was drawn proudly erect, a sort of majesty in every graceful curve, while there was a resolute, inflexible purpose in every line of her beautiful features, and her eyes burned with a steady, relentless fire which told that, if she lived, she would accomplish her vow, let the cost be what it would.

Mrs. Farnum, woman of the world though she was, felt cowed and abashed before her, and when, without waiting for a reply, the wronged wife turned from her and walked, with a firm, unfaltering step, into her chamber, shutting the door after her, she slunk away to her own room, feeling like the guilty thing she was, and trembling for the future if it should ever be discovered what part she had played in the plot to ruin Virginia Heath's happiness.

She was dismayed by the young mother's last words. At first she felt triumphant when she had spoken of her intention of obtaining a divorce, for such a measure would simplify matters greatly; it would relieve Lady Linton from the disagreeable task of trying to persuade her brother to adopt such a course, and thus he would be free, without any effort of his own, to wed whom he chose, and she had reckoned upon Sadie being the favored one.

But she had not taken into consideration the fact that Virgie's child would have a claim upon Heathdale; no divorce would affect her right there, if the legality of Sir William's marriage to Virgie could be proved, and thus endless trouble, to say nothing of the scandal the story would create, might ensue.

Still, there were a hundred "ifs" and possibilities in the way. Virgie might not be able to get satisfactory proofs; the child might not live; she might not live herself to accomplish her object; and she finally resolved to try to be satisfied with the success of her plot thus far, and not trouble herself about future developments. But that pale, beautiful face, with that resolute yet heart-broken look upon it, haunted her for years afterward. She was deeply thankful that Sadie was not there to see it, and she was resolved that they should not meet again.

That evening Virgie was waited upon by the proprietor of the house, who, with much stammering and many apologies, informed her that he was obliged to request her to vacate the rooms that she was occupying.

She understood instantly, but her proud spirit rebelled against this last indignity, and she arose and stood before him in all the majesty of her insulted womanhood.

"Sir! Mr. Eldridge! you will please explain this very extraordinary request," she said, meeting his eyes with a steady glance.

Mr. Eldridge hemmed, looked embarrassed, and remarked with all the blandness he could assume:

"Really, Mrs. ----, madam, I regret to pain you, and it might be as well to avoid explanations."

"No, sir; that is impossible; my husband left me here with the understanding that I should remain here until he came for me, and there must therefore be some very urgent reason for such a strange proceeding on your part."

"Yes, madam," said the man, driven to the wall. "--I--I have been informed that--that you are not Mrs. Heath at all; that the gentleman who brought you here was not what he represented himself to be."

"What authority have you for making such a statement Virgie demanded, haughtily:

"This," answered the hotel keeper, producing the paper containing the notice of the marriage at Heathdale which Mrs. Farnum had slyly laid upon his desk, with the marked paragraph uppermost. She was very careful, however, not to appear in the matter to commit herself.

She had determined to get Virgie away before Sadie's return from Coney Island, while she feared, too, the coming of Sir William to investigate the cause of his wife's long silence.

One glance was sufficient to tell Virgie what paper it was, and she flushed to her brow.

"I see," she said, scornfully, "those who have professed to be my friends are leagued against me."

"But--pardon me--have you no doubts yourself regarding your position?" questioned the landlord, feeling a deep pity for the beautiful woman, in spite of his anxiety regarding the reputation of his house.

"None," but the word came hoarsely from the now hueless lips.

"But you have had no letters for a long time; the gentleman has for years been engaged to an English lady; this paper gives a notice of his recent marriage to her, and everything goes to prove that you have been grossly deceived. It is very unfortunate, but I have received notice from several of my guests that they will leave to-morrow morning unless I insist upon this change, and thus it becomes my painful duty to request these rooms to be vacated."

This was a bitter blow to add to all the rest, but Virgie, conscious of her own purity, bore it with Spartan-like heroism.

She cast one look of scorn upon the man before her, then said, with a calmness that was born of despair:

"Sir, I still assert, in the face of all that you have just said, that I am the wife of Mr.--yes, of Sir William Heath, of Heathdale, Hampshire County, England and some day it will be in my power to prove to you the truth of my words; but I have no wish to occasion you either trouble or loss, so I will go away; to-morrow morning."

The landlord looked greatly relieved at this assurance and yet he was impressed both by her manner and her words.

He assured her of his sympathy, and kindly offered to assist her in obtaining other rooms and establishing herself in them.

Virgie quietly declined this offer, however, and, thanking her for her speedy compliance with his request Mr. Eldridge took his leave, though, to his credit be it said, with considerable shamefacedness and embarrassment.

The next morning Virgie sent to Dr. Knox for his bill, paid it, dismissed her nurse, notwithstanding her urgent plea to be retained even at reduced wages, and then she quietly disappeared from the place, leaving no trace behind her to point to her destination or future plans, and, after the gossip consequent upon such a choice bit of scandal had died away, she was, for the time at least, forgotten.