She told him falteringly, yet calmly.
"You can trust me! Surely you can trust me! Ah, if you knew what it costs me to part with you for a single second! But it must be—it must be!" he groaned. "Believe in me, trust me, dearest Margaret, my wife, for a few short hours longer! You will?"
She looked up at him for a second with a deep earnestness, then she laid her head upon his heart and he kissed her.
With a consideration and a delicacy peculiarly Italian, the prince had left his carriage, and Blair led her to it. He stood and watched it as it drove away, with all that he cared for in life, with the treasure so marvelously restored to him, then he turned toward the city.
He seemed to be walking in a dream. What was this task that lay before him? He was to go to Violet Graham and say, "you are no longer my wife—you never have been my wife! Begone!" It was true he owed her no pity, for she had gained her ends by an unscrupulous alliance with the traitor who had marred and ruined so large a portion of his life; but—still—it was from love of him that she had sinned! And now to go to her and tell her that Nemesis had fallen upon her, and that henceforth she must go before the world a thing for scorn to mock at.
With Austin Ambrose, Blair knew how to deal; there would be no hesitation there. Two or three short words, followed by one blow. But Violet——!
Slowly he made his way to the palace. Servants were running to and fro in the vast hall, the sounds of life were filling the air which a short time back was so still and quiet.
He entered the hall and mounted the stair with dragging step. In the corridor his valet stood aside to let him pass, and regarded his pale face with covert curiosity.
"Is—is her ladyship down yet?" asked Blair.
"No, my lord; it is not her ladyship's time for rising yet."