No—­from the man who two hours before had gone down them, and Ethelyn would hardly have known him for her husband had she been there to meet him.  Wondering much at his long absence, she had at last gone on with her dressing, and then, as he still did not appear, she had stepped for a moment to the room of a friend, who was sick, and had asked to see her when she was ready.  Richard saw that she was out, and sinking into the first chair, his eyes fell upon the note lying near the bureau drawer.  The room had partially been put to rights, but this had escaped Ethie’s notice, and Richard picked it up, glowering with rage, and almost foaming at the mouth when, in the single word, “Ethie,” on the back, he recognized Frank Van Buren’s writing!

He had it then—­the note which his rival had sent, apprising his wife of his presence in town, and he would read it, too.  He had no scruples about that, and his fingers tingled to his elbows as he opened the note, never observing how yellow and worn it looked, or that it was not dated.  He had no doubt of its identity, and his face grew purple with passion as he read: 

“My own darling Ethie:  Don’t fail to be there to-night, and, if possible, leave the ‘old maid’ at home, and come alone.  We shall have so much better time.  Your devoted,

“Frank.”

Words could not express Richard’s emotions as he held that note in his shaking hand, and gazed at the words, “My own darling Ethie.”  Quiet men like Richard Markham are terrible when roused; and Richard was terrible in his anger, as he sat like a block of stone, contemplating the proof of his wife’s unfaithfulness.  He called it by that hard name, grating his teeth together as he thought of her going by appointment to meet Frank Van Buren, who had called him an “old maid,” and planned to have him left behind if possible.  Then, as he recalled what Ethelyn had said about his remaining at home if he were ill, he leaped to his feet, and an oath quivered on his lips at her duplicity.

“False in every respect,” he muttered, “and I trusted her so much.”

It never occurred to him that the note was a strange one for what he imagined it to portend, Frank merely charging Ethelyn to be present at the party, without even announcing his arrival or giving any explanation for his sudden appearance in Camden.  Richard was too much excited to reason upon anything, and stood leaning upon the piano, with his livid face turned toward the door, when Ethie made her appearance, looking very pretty and piquant in her Mary Stuart guise.  She held her mask in her hand, but when she caught a glimpse of him she hastily adjusted it, and springing forward, “Where were you so long?  I began to think you were never coming.  We shall be among the very last.  How do I look as Mary?  Am I pretty enough to make an old maid like Elizabeth jealous of me?”