What could I do but bless her and thank her?  Yet I knew—­God help me, I knew in losing my fortune I lost her!

CHAPTER XII.

The little party that had so gayly assembled in the old library broke up in the deepest gloom.  Sir John was the only one who seemed at all incredulous.

“Rely upon it,” he said, “that, after all, it is some trick of the French woman.”

But Lady Thesiger had no such hope.

“I felt sure there was something wrong with Miles,” she said.  “He was not happy.  He had married in haste and repented at leisure.”

For my own part, I had no hope.  Remembering the subtle, seductive beauty of the woman, I could well imagine Miles being led, even against himself, into a marriage or anything else.

When they were gone I went back to the library.  I wanted to face this terrible blow alone, to realize the possibility that instead of being Sir Edgar Trevelyan, of Crown Anstey, wealthy, honored and powerful, I was Edgar Trevelyan, poor, homeless and penniless.

Could it be possible that after this life of ease, luxury and happiness, I was to fall back into the old position—­hard, monotonous labor, with eighty pounds per annum?

It seemed too hard.  Do not think any the worse of me, reader, if I own that the tears came into my eyes.  It was bitterly hard.

Without warning Coralie entered the room.  It must have been a triumph to her to see the tears in my eyes.  She stood at some little distance from me.

“Edgar,” she asked, “do you hate me?”

“No!  I am too just to hate you for claiming what is your own.  You ought to have told me before, Coralie.  It has been most cruel to let me live in this delusive dream.  If you had told me that night when I came here first, it would have been a momentary disappointment, but I should have gone back to my work none the worse for it.”

“I might have done it, but I saw in this, my secret power, the means of winning you.  Edgar, it is not too late even now.  Make me mistress of Crown Anstey, and I will find the means of restoring your lost position to you.”

I turned from her in unutterable loathing.  She was so lost to all womanly honor and delicacy, my whole soul revolted against her.

“Not another word, Coralie.  I would not take Crown Anstey from you if the alternative were death!”

“That is very decisive,” she replied, with the mocking smile I dreaded.  “We shall see.”

“You will keep your word to me?” I cried, hastily.  “You will say nothing to Clare?  She will soon be well.  I could not bear to have any obstacles thrown in the way of her recovery.  When I leave her, my friends will make some arrangements to spare her the shock of knowing why—­at least, for a time.”

“I shall respect your wishes, Edgar.  I have no desire to hurt your sister.  She is quite safe, so far as I am concerned.”