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230 BLACK SHEEP."What, what is it?" said her hearer, nervouslyreseatingherself." My husband's safety," said Harriet; and asshe spoke the words, Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridgefelt that anillusion was rolled away from her forever. He belonged to this pale stern yvoman,whose unsparing eyes werefixed upon her, whoseunfaltering voice had not a toneofdoubt or yveaknessin it. Inevery line ofher countenance wasthe assertion ofher right, against w-hich the otherfelt powerless, and in whose presence her self-confidencewasutterly subdued.Calm and still, Harriet Routh stood beforeher, her head bent forward, her hands clasped anclpressed steadily against her waist." Ihave no time to lose," she said," and thebriefest explanation will,in this case, be the best.When that flower fell from your hair over thebalcony at the Kursaal at Homburg, it fell at myfeet. Iwas on the terrace beneath. If once,during the time you and he stood there, my husbandhadlooked away from you ancl over the rail,he would have seenme. But he did not. Ihadcome to that particular spot accidentally, thoughI