At this announcement, the Countess, who had gradually been growing fainter and becoming paler, lost all power of supporting herself, and, uttering a cry, fell into his outstretched arms in a state of complete insensibility.

While Lord Roos, half distracted, was considering what means he could adopt for her restoration, a man, with an almost tawny complexion, hair and eyes to match, and habited in the young nobleman’s livery of crimson and white, suddenly entered from the ante-chamber.

“How dare you come in unsummoned, Diego?” cried Lord Roos, furiously.  “Begone instantly, sirrah!”.

“I crave your lordship’s pardon,” replied the Spanish servant; “but I was obliged to apprise you that your wife, the Baroness Roos, and Lady Lake are without, and will not be denied admission.”

“Damnation!” exclaimed Lord Roos.  “What brings them here at such an hour?  But you must on no account admit them, Diego—­at least, till I have had time to remove the Countess to her own chamber.  What a cursed mischance!”

Diego instantly withdrew, apparently to obey his lord’s command; but he had scarcely entered the little passage when two ladies pushed past him, and made their way into the room.  They arrived just in time to intercept Lord Roos, who was conveying his insensible burthen towards the secret staircase.

The young nobleman was as much confounded by their appearance as if two spectres had risen before him.  Both ladies were very richly attired, and the younger of the two was by no means destitute of beauty, though of a pale and pensive character.  The elder had a full, noble figure, haughty features, now lighted up with a smile of triumph as she gazed on Lord Roos.  Very different was the expression of the other, who seemed so much grieved and agitated by what she beheld, as to be almost ready to lapse into the same condition as the Countess.

If Lord Roos could have seen the grin upon Diego’s swarthy visage, as he stood at the entrance of the passage leading to the ante-chamber, he would have had little doubt to whom he was indebted for this surprise.

It is needless to say that the ladies who had thus broken upon Lord Roos’s privacy, and obtained full confirmation of their suspicions (if they had any doubts remaining) were his wife and mother-in-law.

CHAPTER XXIII.

The Tress of Hair.

How to extricate himself from the dilemma in which he was placed, Lord Roos scarcely knew.  But he had a good deal of self-possession, and it did not desert him on the present trying occasion.  After such consideration as circumstances permitted, he could discern only one chance of escape, and though well-nigh hopeless, he resolved to adopt it.  If consummate audacity could carry him through—­and it was required in the present emergency—­he had no lack of it.