Hitherto, not a word had passed between him and the intruders on his privacy.  Lady Lake seemed to enjoy his confusion too much to do anything to relieve it, and his wife was obliged to regulate her movements by those of her mother.  Without breaking the silence, which by this time had become painfully oppressive, he proceeded to deposit the still inanimate person of the Countess of Exeter upon a couch, and, casting a handkerchief, as if undesignedly, over her face, he marched quickly up to the spot where Diego was standing, and said to him, in a deep, determined tone, but so low as not to be overheard by the others: 

“You have betrayed me, villain; and unless you obey me unhesitatingly, and corroborate all my assertions, however startling they may appear, you shall pay for your treachery with your life.”

This done, he turned towards the two ladies, and with more calmness than might have been expected, addressed himself to Lady Lake: 

“You imagine you have made an important discovery, Madam,” he said; “a discovery which will place me and a noble lady, whose reputation you and your daughter seek to injure, in great perplexity.  And you conclude that, being completely (as you fancy) in your power, I shall consent to any terms you and Lady Roos may propose, rather than suffer you to go forth from this chamber and reveal what you have seen in it.  Is it not so, Madam?”

“Ay, my lord,” Lady Lake replied, bitterly.  “You have stated the matter correctly enough, except in one particular.  We do not imagine we have made a discovery; because we are quite sure of it.  We do not fancy you will agree to our terms; because we are certain you will only too gladly screen yourself and the partner of your guilt from exposure and disgrace, at any sacrifice.  And allow me to observe, that the tone adopted by your lordship is neither befitting the circumstances in which you are placed, nor the presence in which you stand.  Some sense of shame must at least be left you—­some show of respect (if nothing more) ought to be observed towards your injured wife.  Were I acting alone in this matter, I would show you and my lady of Exeter no consideration whatever; but I cannot resist the pleadings of my daughter; and for her sake—­and hers alone—­I am content to suspend the blow, unless forced to strike; in which case, nothing shall stay my hands.”

“I thank your ladyship for your clemency,” said Lord Roos, with mock humility.

“O, my dear lord! do not for ever close the door between us!” cried Lady Roos.  “Return to me, and all shall be forgiven.”

“Peace, Elizabeth!” exclaimed Lady Lake, impatiently.  “Know you not, from sad experience, that your husband is inaccessible to all gentle entreaty?  His heart is steeled to pity.  Solicit not that which is your right, and which must be conceded, whether he like or not.  Let him bend the knee to you.  Let him promise amendment, and implore pardon, and it will then be for you to consider whether you will extend forgiveness to him.”