The native doctor was right.  The unhappy woman never saw the rising of another sun, and in the white sands, beneath the waving palms, where the hyena prowled and the wild jackall barked hoarsely through the night, lies the mortal remains of this ambitious woman, who thus fell a victim to the jealous and revengeful passions of those by whom she had been surrounded by her unscrupulous husband.

The third day after the ball, Captain Snaffle again presented himself at Lady Chutny’s bungalow, and was informed that her ladyship had left town, and would, in all probability be absent some weeks.  The fashionable world was in a great commotion at this unexpected event.  They could not understand it.  To leave town at the height of the season, and just as she had achieved so great a triumph as her last ball was allowed to be, it was quite inexplicable.  It was talked of, canvassed over, and commented upon, at the band stand, race course, conversaziones, and mess room, for several days, and, in fact, until the mystery was cleared up by a startling denouement.

“I say, Snaffle, old fellow, who the deuce is she?  You know, or I am much mistaken.  I saw you making great play, and coming it rather heavy with her on the night of the ball.  I watched you both for some time.  You two have met before under different circumstances.  I wager my chestnut mare against your bay colt that I am right.  Will you say done?” and Harry Racer, of the Fusiliers, here produced his book in hopes of entering a bet.

“Not quite so fast Racer, my boy.  There is no mystery in the matter, no subject for a wager.  We have met before, I knew it while talking to her, but could not remember where.  I recollect all now.  Whether she recognized me or not, I cannot tell.  She is a very clever woman.  If you will say nothing about it, I will tell you all I know.”

“Not I! not I,” replied Racer, half despondingly at the prospect of being able to enter a wager in his betting book disappearing.

“Well then,” continued Snaffle, “she was a Mrs. Fraudhurst, a widow governess and companion to a rich heiress, niece of Sir Jasper Coleman of Vellenaux in Devonshire.  How she got out here, and in what way she managed to hook Sir Lexicon, I cannot imagine, but I will find it all out at our next interview, depend upon it.”

“Stop!  By Jupiter!  Did you say governess, Baronet, name Coleman, place, Vellenaux, Devonshire?  Here’s a go!  Not a word.  Here, Ramsammy, bring the fyle of English newspapers from the library, quick.”  The papers were handed to him, and, selecting Bell’s Life, Harry Racer commenced reading the following paragraph:—­

“Frightful railway accident.  Death of Sir Ralph Coleman of Vellenaux, Devonshire.  Startling disclosures.  Stolen Will.  Heiress defrauded.  Flight from the country of accomplice, the family governess.  Full particulars in our next issue.”