Madame Midas was a remarkably plucky woman, but it needed all her pluck and philosophy to bear up against the terrible calamities which were befalling her. Her faith in human nature was completely destroyed, and she knew that all the pleasure of doing good had gone out of her life. The discovery of Kitty’s baseness had wounded her deeply, and she found it difficult to persuade herself that the girl had not been the victim of circumstances. If Kitty had only trusted her when she came to live with her all this misery and crime would have been avoided, for she would have known Madame Midas would never have married Vandeloup, and thus would have had no motive for committing the crime. Regarding Vandeloup’s pretensions to her hand, Mrs Villiers laughed bitterly to herself. After the misery of her early marriage it was not likely she was going to trust herself and her second fortune again to a man’s honour. She sighed as she thought what her future life must be. She was wealthy, it was true, but amid all her riches she would never be able to know the meaning of friendship, for all who came near her now would have some motive in doing so, and though Madame Midas was anxious to do good with her wealth, yet she knew she could never expect gratitude in return. The comedy of human life is admirable when one is a spectator; but ah! the actors know they are acting, and have to mask their faces with smiles, restrain the tears which they would fain let flow, and mouth witty sayings with breaking hearts. Surely the most bitter of all feelings is that cynical disbelief in human nature which is so characteristic of our latest civilization.

Madame Midas, however, now that Melbourne was so hateful to her, determined to leave it, and sent up to Mr Calton in order to confer with him on the subject. Calton came down to St Kilda, and was shown into the drawing-room where Mrs Villiers, calm and impenetrable looking as ever, sat writing letters. She arose as the barrister entered, and gave him her hand.

‘It was kind of you to come so quickly,’ she said, in her usual quiet, self-contained manner; ‘I wish to consult you on some matters of importance.’

‘I am at your service, Madame,’ replied Calton, taking a seat, and looking keenly at the marble face before him; ‘I am glad to see you looking so well, considering what you have gone through.’

Mrs Villiers let a shadowy smile flit across her face.

‘They say the Red Indian becomes utterly indifferent to the torture of his enemies after a certain time,’ she answered, coldly; ‘I think it is the same with me. I have been deceived and disillusionized so completely that I have grown utterly callous, and nothing now can move me either to sorrow or joy.’

‘A curious answer from a curious woman,’ thought Calton, glancing at her as she sat at the writing-table in her black dress with the knots of violet ribbons upon it; ‘what queer creatures experience makes us.’

Madame Midas folded her hands loosely on the table, and looked dreamily out of the open French window, and at the trellis covered with creeping plants beyond, through which the sun was entering in pencils of golden light. Life would have been so sweet to her if she had only been content to be deceived like other people; but then she was not of that kind. Faith with her was a religion, and when religion is taken away, what remains? — nothing.

‘I am going to England,’ she said, abruptly, to Calton, rousing herself out of these painful reflections.

‘After the trial, I presume?’ observed Calton, slowly.

‘Yes,’ she answered, hesitatingly; ‘do you think they will — they will — hang the girl?’

Calton shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he answered, with a half smile; ‘if she is found guilty — well — I think she will be imprisoned for life.’

‘Poor Kitty,’ said Madame, sadly, ‘it was an evil hour when you met Vandeloup. What do you think of him?’ she asked, suddenly.

‘He’s a scoundrel,’ returned Calton, decisively; still, a clever one, with a genius for intrigue; he should have lived in the times of Borgian Rome, where his talents would have been appreciated; now we have lost the art of polite murder.’

‘Do you know,’ said Mrs Villiers, musingly, leaning back in her chair, ‘I cannot help thinking Kitty is innocent of this crime.’

‘She may be,’ returned Calton, ambiguously, ‘but the evidence seems very strong against her.’

‘Purely circumstantial,’ interrupted Madame Midas, quickly.

‘Purely circumstantial, as you say,’ assented Calton; ‘still, some new facts may be discovered before the trial which may prove her to be innocent. After the mystery which enveloped the death of Oliver Whyte in the hansom cab murder I hesitate giving a decided answer, in any case till everything has been thoroughly sifted; but, if not Kitty Marchurst, whom do you suspect — Vandeloup?’

‘No; he wanted to marry me, not to kill me.’

‘Have you any enemy, then, who would do such a thing?’

‘Yes; my husband.’

‘But he is dead.’

‘He disappeared,’ corrected Madame, ‘but it was never proved that he was dead. He was a revengeful, wicked man, and if he could have killed me, without hurting himself, he would,’ and rising from her seat she paced up and down the room slowly.

‘I know your sad story,’ said the barrister, ‘and also how your husband disappeared; but, to my mind, looking at all the circumstances, you will not be troubled with him again.’

A sudden exclamation made him turn his head, and he saw Madame Midas, white as death, staring at the open French window, on the threshold of which was standing a man — medium height, black beard, and a haggard, hunted look in his eyes.

‘Who is this?’ cried Calton, rising to his feet.

Madame Midas tottered, and caught at the mantelpiece for support.

‘My husband,’ she said, in a whisper.

‘Alive?’ said Calton, turning to the man at the window.

‘I should rather think so,’ said Villiers, insolently, advancing into the room; ‘I don’t look like a dead man, do I?’

Madame Midas sprang forward and caught his wrist.

‘So you have come back, murderer!’ she hissed in his ear.

‘What do you mean?’ said her husband, wrenching his hand away.

‘Mean?’ she cried, vehemently; ‘you know what I mean. You cut yourself off entirely from me by your attempt on my life, and the theft of the gold; you dare not have showed yourself in case you received the reward of your crime; and so you worked in the dark against me. I knew you were near, though I did not see you; and you for a second time attempted my life.’

‘I did not,’ muttered Villiers, shrinking back from the indignant blaze of her eyes. ‘I can prove —’

‘You can prove,’ she burst out, contemptuously, drawing herself up to her full height, ‘Yes! you can prove anything with your cowardly nature and lying tongue; but prove that you were not the man who came in the dead of night and poisoned the drink waiting for me, which was taken by my nurse. You can prove — yes, as God is my judge, you shall prove it, in the prisoner’s dock, e’er you go to the gallows.’

During all this terrible speech, Villiers had crouched on the ground, half terrified, while his wife towered over him, magnificent in her anger. At the end, however, he recovered himself a little, and began to bluster.

‘Every man has a right to a hearing,’ he said, defiantly, looking from his wife to Calton; ‘I can explain everything.’

Madame Midas pointed to a chair.

‘I have no doubt you will prove black is white by your lying,’ she said, coldly, returning to her seat; ‘I await this explanation.’

Thereupon Villiers sat down and told them the whole story of his mysterious disappearance, and how he had been made a fool of by Vandeloup. When he had ended, Calton, who had resumed his seat, and listened to the recital with deep interest, stole a glance at Madame Midas, but she looked as cold and impenetrable as ever.

‘I understand, now, the reason of your disappearance,’ she said, coldly; ‘but that is not the point. I want to know the reason you tried to murder me a second time.’

‘I did not,’ returned Villiers, quietly, with a gesture of dissent.

‘Then Selina Sprotts, since you are so particular,’ retorted his wife, with a sneer; ‘but it was you who committed the crime.’

‘Who says I did?’ cried Villiers, standing up.

‘No one,’ put in Calton, looking at him sharply, ‘but as you had a grudge against your wife, it is natural for her to............