Feeling she had heard more than she ought, the Countess would have retired; but as retreat might have betrayed her, she deemed it better to announce her presence by saying,

“You are not alone, my Lord.”

Startled by her voice, Lord Roos instantly turned, and regarded her with haggard looks.

“You here, Frances?” he exclaimed; “I did not expect you so soon.”

“I came before the hour, because—­but you seem greatly agitated.  Has anything happened?”

“Little more than what happens daily,” he replied.  “And yet it is more; for the crisis has arrived, and a fearful crisis it is.  O, Frances!” he continued vehemently, “how dear you are to me.  To preserve your love I would dare everything, even my soul’s welfare.  I would hesitate at no crime to keep you ever near me.  Let those beware who would force you from me.”

“What means this passion, my Lord?” inquired the Countess.

“It means that since there are those who will mar our happiness; who, jealous of our loves, will utterly blight and destroy them; who will tear us forcibly asunder, recking little of the anguish they occasion:  since we have enemies who will do this; who will mortally wound us—­let us no longer hesitate, but strike the first blow.  We must rid ourselves of them at any cost, and in any way.”

“I will not affect to misunderstand you, my Lord,” the Countess replied, her beautiful features beginning to exhibit traces of terror.  “But has it arrived at this point?  Is the danger imminent and inevitable?”

“Imminent, but not inevitable,” Lord Roos rejoined.  “It can be avoided, as I have hinted, in one way, and in one way only.  There is a letter I have just received from my wife; wherein, after her usual upbraidings, remonstrances, and entreaties, she concludes by saying, that if I continue deaf to her prayers, and refuse to break off entirely with you, and return to her, our ’criminal attachment,’—­for so she terms our love—­should be divulged to the deluded Earl of Exeter, who will know how to redress her wrongs, and avenge his own injured honour.  What answer, save one, can be returned to that letter, Frances?  If we set her at defiance, as we have hitherto done, she will act, for she is goaded on by that fury, her mother.  We must gain a little time, in order that the difficulties now besetting us may be effectually removed.”

“I shudder to think of it, William,” said the Countess, trembling and turning deathly pale.  “No; it must not be.  Rather than such a crime should be committed, I will comply with their demand.”

“And leave me?” cried Lord Roos, bitterly.  “Frances, your affection is not equal to mine, or you could not entertain such a thought for a moment.  You almost make me suspect,” he added, sternly, “that you have transferred your love to another.  Ah! beware! beware!  I am not to be trifled with, like your husband.”