“Yes, Sir Harold, I have Lady Elaine’s address. I send her news of your condition daily. I may have done wrong, but——”
“Hush, Stimson! Not another word! I rely upon you completely.”
The valet understood, and three days later he bore a message to Lady Elaine Seabright, which read in this way:
My Lost Love—To-morrow night I shall leave England forever. Before doing so, I must see you once more, if only to vindicate myself in your eyes. I have a wife who is devoted to me heart and soul, and, God helping me, I will do my duty toward her. At three o’clock to-morrow afternoon I shall arrive at your address. Do not deny me this last farewell.
Harold.
Lady Elaine shed tears over this missive, and replied simply:
It is wrong, but I cannot deny you. Heaven forgive me!
The very knowledge of his disloyalty to his wife increased his tenderness toward her. He called her by many pet names, and spoke in glowing terms of the brightness of their future, but she only smiled in a sad, sweet way, and sometimes shook her head.
“You will forget me some day, my husband,” she said. “You will forget me, and it may be soon. Already have your thoughts gone back to the woman you first loved.”
“My silly ravings again,” he replied. “Theresa, it pains me to hear you talk in this way. I shall never fail in my duty to you.”