For a few moments she too was mystified as to who he was, or under what circumstances they had met, or whether it was a case of simple mistaken identity; but another searching glance at the mirror, and the truth flashed upon her in an instant.  Her thoughts travelled back to Vellenaux.  Yes, it was he, the same Snaffle of the Lancers, who had figured as young Lochinvar at the fancy dress ball, and had subsequently lunched there on one or two occasions during the shooting season, prior to Arthur’s joining his regiment.  She felt certain that he had not as yet recognized her, but that he must do so at length she felt convinced.  To be recognized by him after so many years was an event which she had not calculated on.  It was one to be dreaded, for, doubtless, the disclosures that he could make, would bring her to disgrace and ultimate ruin; but she was equal to the trying ordeal.

“If we have met, my dear sir,” she said, in a low, soft voice, “it must have been at the Cape, or in London.  Although I do not think that your regiment was in either of those places during my residence there, but that circumstance need not prevent us from becoming better acquainted.”  He bowed and retired, and the smiling hostess moved among her guests as though nothing had occurred to disturb her.  On the following morning the card of Captain Snaffle was handed to her, but she excused herself from appearing on the plea of indisposition.  The sight of the Lancer’s card both startled and alarmed her.  He had discovered her identity with the ex-governess of Vellenaux, or he would never have presented himself at so early an hour after the bail.  What was to be done?  She must return at once to Pallamcotta, and an hour after the gallant Captain had left, she quitted her bungalow.  She need not have been so much alarmed, for, although Snaffle, who, during the evening, had obtained a good look at her unobserved, it was not until late in the morning that he remembered her as the companion of Edith at Vellenaux.  Nor had he heard anything of Sir Ralph’s death, or the crime which had caused her to fly from England, but this she did not know, and as “conscience makes cowards of us all,” she sought the refuge of her bungalow at Pallamcotta.

With agitated feelings, and distracted with doubts and fears, it was in no enviable state of mind that Lady Chutny re-entered her home on the plantation.  Judge then of her indignation to find that during her absence the favourite mistresses had been re-established in their old comfortable quarters, for, while she had been amusing herself at the Capital with balls and parties, they had regained their ascendency over Sir Lexicon, who, not expecting her ladyship’s return for several weeks, had consented to their returning to the bungalow until suitable arrangements could be made for them.  He ladyship’s sudden and unexpected return, together with her order for their immediate expulsion, aroused their passions—­which during her absence had remained dormant—­to intense hatred, and they were determined to sacrifice her at the altar of jealousy and revenge, and resolved to execute their wicked project without further delay.  Sir lexicon’s absence, they well knew, would afford them an excellent opportunity for carrying out their design.  The servants, they were sure, would act in concert with them, by affording them the facilities they required.