“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.