Sir Oswald looked up angrily, thinking it was one
of the servants who had intruded on him.
It was his wife who stood before him, dressed in the white robes she
had worn at the picnic; but wan and haggard, white as the dress she
wore.
"Oswald," she cried, with outstretched hands, and the look of one who
did not doubt she would be welcome.
The baronet sprang to his feet, and looked at that pale face with a
gaze of unspeakable indignation.
"And you dare to come back?" he exclaimed. "False-hearted adventuress--
actress--hypocrite--you dare to come to me with that lying smile upon
your face--after your infamy of last night!"
"I am neither adventuress, nor hypocrite, Oswald. Oh, where have your
love and confidence vanished that you can condemn me unheard? I have
done no wrong--not by so much as one thought that is not full of love
for you! I am the helpless victim of the vilest plot that was ever
concocted for the destruction of a woman's happiness."
A mocking laugh burst from the lips of Sir Oswald.
"Oh," he cried, "so that is your story. You are the victim of a plot,
are you? You were carried away by ruffians, I suppose? You did not go
willingly with your paramour? Woman, you stand convicted of your
treachery by the fullest evidence. You were seen to leave the Wizard's
Cave! You were seen clinging to Victor Carrington--were seen to go with
him, _willingly_.
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