“Yes—­oh!  I cannot understand it; but, if I ever discover who has been at the bottom of this mischief, it will be a sad day for that individual!” cried the’ baronet, with stern emphasis.

Lady Linton suddenly stooped to brush a thread from her black dress, and when she sat upright again there was considerable more color than usual in her face.

“I am troubled to see you so unhappy, William,” she said, more kindly than she had yet spoken, “and perhaps, after all, a change will be the best thing for you.  What are your plans?”

“I have none.  I simply wish to get away from myself, if that is possible; to steep my troubled thoughts in some excitement.  I believe I will go to the Far East—­Egypt, Palestine—­anywhere to escape this feeling of utter desolation,” he answered, dejectedly.

“When will you go?”

“At once—­before the week is out, if I can arrange to do so.”

“Have you any special commands for me to attend to during your absence?”

“None, save that you are to remain here as usual, if you like, and in case any word comes from my loved ones, send for me at once.”

“Very well.  Have you any idea how long you will be away?”

“No.  I may not be gone a month; I may stay ten years; it will depend upon how well I can kill time,” returned Sir William, moodily.

“Oh, William, I wish you would try and rise above this trouble,” said his sister, out of all patience with him at heart, but speaking in a soothing tone.  “I do not like to pain you, but, truly, it looks to me as if your wife had been guilty of willful desertion in thus hiding herself from you, and I believe there would be a great deal of happiness yet for you if you could be freed from her entirely, and then bring some good, gentle woman here to make your home pleasant for you.”

It was the first time that she had ever been able to gather courage sufficient to make this proposition; but she was wholly unprepared for the storm of wrath which the suggestion brought upon her head.

Sir William came and stood, tall and stern, before her, his face almost convulsed with mingled pain and wrath, his eyes blazing dangerously: 

“Miriam Linton,” he began, in a suppressed tone, “never dare to open your lips on such a subject to me again.  I married my darling for better or worse, until death should part us, and only my death or hers will ever break the tie—­at least with my consent—­that binds us.”

He turned abruptly and left the room as he ceased speaking, more angry with her than he had ever been before.

Lady Linton was thoroughly startled by what he had said, and she knew she would never dare suggest such a measure again to him; but she still had a secret hope, from what Mrs. Farnum had written her, that the injured wife would seek a legal separation from him.

She imagined that this might be the reason of Virgie keeping so quiet just at present, and she was all the more willing and glad to have her brother go away from home, as he proposed doing, because she knew that he would have to be notified whenever any such proceedings should be instituted, and she feared if he were there to receive them he would at once post off to America again, and upset all her plans by bringing about a reconcilation at the last moment.