“Shall you return at once?” she asked, as they arose from the table.

“Just as soon as I can possibly arrange to do so; and, Miriam, I want no pains spared to make the home-coming of my wife an agreeable one.”

“You shall be obeyed,” Lady Linton replied, with downcast eyes and a heavily throbbing heart; “but of course you will let me know when to expect you.”

“Certainly; and the suite of rooms over the library are to be put in order for Virgie.”

“Very well; I will speak to the housekeeper about it.”

“You will mention, too, for whom they are being prepared,” Sir William said, glancing sharply at his sister.  “It must be known at once that I have a wife and child.  I have made a great mistake in allowing you to persuade me to keep silence upon the subject so long.”

“But it was for mamma’s sake, you know; while she was so ill it was better not to have it talked about,” apologized Lady Linton; but she mentally resolved that she should be in no hurry to tell the secret, even if he had ordered her to do so, at least until she was sure her brother would find his wife.

Something might prevent his bringing Virgie home, and in that case a scandal would be avoided if she kept silence.  She would wait, at least, until he notified her of the date of his return.

“It was a mistake, I tell you,” Sir William repeated, with a clouded brow.  “It has been a mark of disloyalty to my wife which I will tolerate no longer.  So please do as I request.”

Lady Linton bowed.

“Shall I cable for you?” she asked, after a moment of silence.  “I shall be in London most of the day, and perhaps I may be able to get a reply to bring you on my return.”

“No, thanks; I, too, shall go in town to-day, to engage my passage, and I will attend to the matter myself,” Sir William replied, and the heart of the schemer sank within her.

She had intended to cable to Mrs. Farnum, and, if Virgie was still at the hotel, authorize her to use any strategy to get her away before her brother should arrive, and then send her a dispatch to suit the emergency.

But, if he cabled himself, and received an answer from his wife, she had the very worst to fear for herself.

They went up to London on the same train, and Lady Linton suffered agonies during that ride, and all day long, while she was shopping, her suspense was terrible to her.

But when she entered the station, late in the afternoon, to return to Heathdale, she was both startled and relieved to find her brother already there, and pacing back and forth outside the waiting-room in great excitement.

“Have you news, William?” she faltered, her heart beating almost to suffocation.

“Yes,” he answered, in a strained unnatural tone.  “Here, read this!” and he thrust a cablegram into her trembling hands.

She had hardly strength to unfold the paper, but her pulses bounded with exultation as she read: