"I have given you a long time to come to your senses and leave my

house. Now my patience is exhausted, and I require you to depart.

You are not embarrassed for a home or a support: if you were I

should afford you both, on condition of your departure from

America. But my whole patrimony would be but a mite added to your

treasures.

"You have country-seats in England, Scotland, and Ireland, as well

as a town house in London, a marine villa at Boulougne, and a Swiss

cottage on Lake Leman. All these are your own; and you shall never

be molested by me in your exclusive possession of them. Choose your

residence from among them, and leave me in peaceable possession of

the one modest countryhouse I have inherited in my native land. I

wish to sell it.

"But you doubtless have informed yourself before this time, that by

the laws of the State in which my property is situated, a man

cannot sell his homestead without the consent of his wife. Your

co-operation is therefore necessary in the sale of Brudenell Hall.

I wish you to put yourself in immediate communication with my

solicitors, Messrs. Kage & Kage, Monument Street, Baltimore, who

are in possession of my instructions. Do this promptly, and win

from me the only return you have left it in my power to make

you--oblivion of your crimes and of yourself.

"Herman Brudenell."

With the calmness of despair Berenice read this cruel letter through to

the end, and dropped it on her lap, and sat staring at it in silence.

Then, as if incredulous of its contents, or doubtful of its meaning, she

took it up and read it again, and again let it fall. And yet a third

time--after rapidly passing her hand to and fro across her forehead, as

if that action would clear her vision--she raised, re-perused, and laid

aside the letter. Then she firmly set her teeth, and slowly nodded her

head, while for an instant a startling light gleamed from her deep black

eyes.

Her faithful attendant, while seeming to be busy arranging the flasks on

the dressing-table, furtively and anxiously watched her mistress, who at

last spoke: "Phoebe!"

"Yes, my lady."

"Bring me a glass of wine."

The girl brought the required stimulant, and in handing it to her

mistress noticed how deadly white her face had become. And as the

countess took the glass from the little silver waiter her hand came in

contact with that of Phoebe, and the girl felt as if an icicle had

touched her, so cold it was.




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