of my presence here to-night. Not a word, mind, to Lady Deverill. I sleep at the Green Dragon-good-night.'

'Let me see you to the door, my lord.'

No, keep your seat. I want no fuss or noise.'

The secretary waited, listening breathlessly till he heard the sound of the hall-door closed with a cautious hand. Then he crept through the dark library, and out into the hall where it was almost dark, and stood there behind a stone column listening intently. Yes, in the gallery above he heard the sound of a man's footstep, stealthy, but distinctly audible in the utter stillness of the house.

Algernon Mildmay crept up the staircase with light swift steps. He was just in time to see a figure disappear through a dimly-lighted archway at the end of the gallery-a tall stalwart form that was very familiar to him, the figure of George, Baron Deverill.

He followed, still very cautiously, and prepared to dart into the embrasure of a door, should his patron turn. He followed to the foot of the second staircase, and saw Lord Deverill mounting before him, mounting to the third story of that spacious mansion. On this third floor there was a range of bed-chambers rarely occupied, and above these the garrets of the servants.

Algernon Mildmay heard his kinsman open the door of one of the empty rooms, and close it after him. Then all was silent; and after listening on the dark landing for nearly a quarter of an hour, the secretary went softly downstairs.

So this is what his lordship meant by sleeping at the Green Dragon. There is a storm brewing, I fancy; a tempest which will sweep that fair-faced doll from the pinnacle to which my dotard cousin has elevated her. Is she false to him, I wonder? Who knows? Enough for me, if he think her so. And that handsome young priest would serve to make a dozen middle-aged husbands jealous. A man has no business to marry at fifty years of age. 'Tis a deliberate wrong to his next of kin. And so he means to spend the night in hiding up yonder; and in that case how about sailing at daybreak for Antwerp? Has he seen the king to-night, and is he charged with any mission in the Netherlands ? No, I would wager my chances of the Deverill inheritance that those are lies. Had he seen those two, my lady and her priest, I wonder? There was that in his face which meant mischief when he came in-a murderous look. Yes, I will lay my life he had seen them.'

And musing thus, Mr. Mildmay went slowly back to his little study, and sat there, brooding and listening till late into the night. There was a pale streak of daylight in the east when he left the house, and walked back to his lodgings through the quiet streets.

CHAPTER IV.

MY LORD AVENGES HIMSELF.

It was between nine and ten o'clock upon the night after Lord Deverill's return, and a night of storm and tempest, when a tall figure with a masked face took its stand in the narrow passage behind my lady's favourite chamber. There came the sound of voices from within-youthful voices which the listener knew too well; but to-night he could not hear their words; for Alice Deverill and her companion were standing at the open window watching the storm, and the noise of the wind and rain drowned the low murmur of their voices.

There was a fragile rowing-boat moored to the lion's head below, but no boatman. The mock priest was skilled in the use of the oars, and had rowed across the river from his obscure Surrey lodging before the storm began. He was watching the sky now, admiringly rather than anxiously, and a cry of rapture broke from his lips every now and then when the vivid lightning flashed across river and city, with a tremulous blue light that gave a weird unearthly aspect to that familiar scene.

That masked listener, peering in at the lamp-lit room presently through the crevice in the door, fancied that Alice was pleading with her visitor, entreating him not to leave her while the storm was raging. She clung to him with pretty beseeching gestures-those tender winning ways the watcher knew so well-looking up at him the while. He smiled at her fears, laughed even, as if to reassure her, then bent to kiss the fair brow, snatched up his hat, and turned towards the door.

'Nay, my sweet one, there is nothing to fear,' he said in a louder voice, with his hand upon the door. I have been used to all weathers. I shall be on the opposite bank in five minutes, and safe at my lodging in ten.-Good-night, and God guard thee, pretty It may be long before you and I meet again.'

one.

Ay,' muttered the figure lurking in the shadow of the wall, 'thou sayest truly, traitor; it may be long.'

Alice Deverill brought the lamp to the doorway; but the door below giving on the water was open, and there was a wind upon the staircase that would have extinguished twenty lamps. In a moment they were in darkness.

'Go back and light your lamp, child,' said the young man, pushing her gently into the room, and shutting the door upon her.

He ran lightly down the stairs, close followed by the masked watcher. In the doorway above the river a powerful hand gripped him by the neck, and flung him round suddenly. It was too dark for him to see his assailant. He tried to draw his sword; in vain;

that unknown enemy seemed to have a giant's strength. He gave one hoarse cry for help, and in the next moment was flung down into the empty boat, stabbed to the heart.

The assassin cut the rope with his dagger, and pushed the boat out into the stream. On such a night it was scarce likely that any one had heard that one half-stifled cry for help. The murderer's grasp had been upon the victim's throat when it was uttered.

He walked slowly up the stairs, wiping his poniard on the velvet sleeve of his doublet as he went. He opened the door of the little tapestried room, and went in, an awful figure, with the face hidden, and a dagger grasped in the strong right hand, the lace ruffle torn from the bony wrist, and the velvet sleeve pushed upward to give free play to that murderous hand.

Alice Deverill was on her knees at a little altar when he entered the room. She rose at the sound of the opening door, and turned her face towards it. At the sight of that ghastly figure, she gave a feeble cry, and recoiled, tottering to the opposite wall.

The intruder uttered no word. He strode across the little room and laid a heavy hand, his left hand, upon the girl's bare shoulder. 'What, hypocrite,' he said, do you pray? That is indeed a blasphemy! You were praying for your lover's safety perchance? Wasted breath, wench. He has gone upon the last long journey. Would'st like to follow him?'

'Lord Deverill,' cried the girl, recognising her husband's voice, altered as it was by passion; what madness is this! My lover! -I have no lover.'

'What, not the mock priest who left you two minutes ago! Nay, 'tis easy enough for such trash to lie. But I did not come to talk. Thy last lie is spoken, girl.'

He wound one powerful arm round the slender figure, took her to his breast in that last embrace, and plunged the dagger home to her heart as surely as he had pierced that of her late visitor.

'She would have won me to believe her lies, if I had let her talk,' he muttered to himself. I am weaker than water where she is coneerned.'

He held her in his arms still. He kissed the pale dead face— not once but many times-more passionately than he had ever kissed it in life, when he had been too proud to reveal the depth of his love. He held the lifeless form for a long time, his mask flung aside now, looking down at the fair face with unspeakable woe, and yet some touch of pride in the thought that he had avenged himself. At last he roused himself from that profound reverie, laid his dead wife gently down upon a couch, and then began to make an end of his work.

He broke open caskets and cabinets, and crammed his pockets with their glittering contents. It was his business to make this deed