Poor child! she was, indeed, losing color, and was almost heart-sick with the terrible suspense, although she tried to be very brave and to conceal her trouble from every eye.

She wrote again and again to her husband, begging for one line, one word even, pleading that he would let her come to him if he was ill and needed her.  She would gladly brave the dangers of the ocean alone, she told him, if he would but give her his consent to do so.

But still that terrible silence remained unbroken.

She was almost tempted to set out alone in spite of everything, and nothing but the fear of passing her husband on the way prevented her doing so.

She had learned that the Farnums were English, but upon discovering that their home was a long distance from Heathdale—­Mr. Farnum owned a large estate in Bedford County—­she reasoned that they could not know anything of Sir William’s family; and being extremely sensitive regarding his recent apparent neglect of her, she did not once hint that she expected her own future home would also be in England.

Meantime Lady Linton’s plans were ripening.  Events were occurring at Heathdale which she trusted would serve her purpose well; and now Mrs. Farnum was only waiting for a favorable opportunity to commence aggressive operations.

The opportunity soon came.  Sadie had been invited by some friends to spend a week or two at Coney Island, and her mother, fearing if she should be there to witness Virgie’s grief when she began to work out her plot, that she might do something to upset her plans, willingly gave her consent for her to go.

On the afternoon after her departure, Mrs. Farnum with a basket of fancy work in hand, went to pay Virgie a little visit, saying she was lonely without Sadie, and had come in for a cozy chat.

The young wife had evidently been weeping, for her cheeks were flushed and her eyes heavy, but she received her guest cordially, and exerted herself to be entertaining.

Mrs. Farnum appeared unconscious of anything unusual although she watched the young wife keenly, and readily surmised what had caused her unhappiness.

She chatted socially for a while on various topics, but after a time laid down her work, and taking up a book from a table near which she was sitting, began carelessly turning over its pages.

“Jean Ingelow,” she remarked, with a smile.  “Are you fond of her poetry, Mrs. Heath?”

“Yes,” Virgie answered, “I think some of her poems are very sweet.”

Mrs. Farnum glanced absently at two or three, then turned to the fly leaf of the book, while Virgie’s eyes mechanically followed her movements.

The name of William Heath was written there.

Mrs. Farnum looked up surprised, then smiled.

“Your husband’s name is William?” she said, inquiringly

“Yes,” Virgie returned, with a slight flush, while a pang shot through her heart at the sound of the dear name.