Her face blanched to a hue even more deathly than before, at his meaning words. What did he suspect? What did he know?
"I know all," he continued, sternly.
For a moment she dropped her face in her hands and turned crimson from brow to throat under his merciless gaze, then she looked up at him proudly, and said, almost defiantly:
"If, indeed, you know all, Colonel Carlyle, you know, of a truth, that I did not wrong you willfully."
He was silent a moment, drawing her crumpled note from his breast and smoothing out the folds.
"This is all I know," he said, holding it up before her eyes. "This tells me that you have wronged me, that you have a dreadful secret—you and the man at whose feet you fainted to-night. You must tell me that secret now."
"Where did you get the note?" she panted, breathlessly.
"Perhaps the artist gave it to me!" he sneered.
"I will not believe it," she said, passionately. "Lucy—where is Lucy?"
"She is out in the street where I thrust her when I found her with this note," he answered, harshly. "It is enough that my roof must shelter a false wife, it shall not protect her false minion!"