His
brain was on fire. An intense affection can scarcely exist without a
lurking tendency to jealousy. Until to-night every jealous feeling had
been lulled to rest by the confiding trust of the happy husband; but
to-night a few words--spoken in apparent carelessness--spoken by one
who could have, as Sir Oswald thought, no motive for malice--had
aroused the sleeping passion, and peace had fled from his heart.
As Sir Oswald passed the window by which he had left Lydia Graham, he
heard that young lady talking to some one.
"It is positively disgraceful," she said; "her flirtation with that Mr.
Carrington is really too obvious, though Sir Oswald is so blind as not
to perceive it. I thought they were cousins until to-night. Imagine my
surprise when I found that they were not even distantly related; that
they have actually only known each other for a fortnight. The woman
must be a shameless flirt, and the man is evidently an adventurer."
The poisoned arrow shot to its mark. Sir Oswald believed that these
words had never been intended to reach his ears. He did not for a
moment suspect that Lydia Graham had recognized his approaching figure
on the moonlit terrace, and had uttered these words to her friend on
purpose that they should reach his ears.
How should a true-hearted man suspect a woman's malice? How should he
fathom the black depths of wickedness to which a really false and
heartless woman can descend?
He did not know that Lydia Graham had ever hoped to be mistress of his
home.
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