“Now that the object of your disquietude is removed, Madam, it will not be necessary to prolong this interview,” he said.

“Have we then your lordship’s permission to depart?” rejoined Lady Lake, coldly.  “We are not, I presume, to avail ourselves of the private means of exit contrived for your amorous adventures, lest we should make other discoveries.”

“Your ladyship will leave by the way you entered,” rejoined Lord Roos.  “I will attend you to the door—­and unfasten it for you.”

“Before we go, I would have a word with my husband—­it may be my last,” said Lady Roos to her mother.  “I pray you withdraw a little, that we may be alone.”

“Better not,” rejoined Lady Lake.  But unable to resist her daughter’s imploring looks, she added, “Well, as you will.  But it is useless.”

With this she proceeded to the little passage, and remained there.

As Lady Roos turned to her husband, she saw, from the stern and inflexible look he had assumed, that any appeal made to him would be unavailing, and she attempted none.  A moment elapsed before she could utter a word, and then it was only a murmur to heaven for guidance and support.

“What say you, Elizabeth?” demanded Lord Roos, thinking she had addressed him.

“I asked for support from on High, William, and it has been accorded to me,” she replied in a low sweet voice.  “I can now speak to you.  It is not to weary you with supplications or reproaches that I thus detain you.  I have something to impart to you, and I am sure you will eagerly listen to it.  Come nearer, that we may not be overheard.”

Lord Roos, whose curiosity was aroused by her manner, obeyed her.

“I am all attention,” he said.

“I feel I am in your way, William,” she rejoined, in a deep whisper; “and that you desire my death.  Nay, interrupt me not; I am sure you desire it; and I am equally sure that the desire will be gratified, and that you will kill me.”

“Kill you, Bess!” cried Lord Roos, startled.  “How can you imagine aught so frightful?”

“There is a power granted to those who love deeply as I do, of seeing into the hearts of those they love, and reading their secrets.  I have read yours, William.  Nay, be not alarmed.  I have kept it to myself hitherto, and will keep it to the end.  You wish me dead, I say; and you shall have your wish—­but not in the way you propose.  Having lost your love, I am become indifferent to life—­or, rather, life is grown intolerable to me.  But though death may be a release, it must not come from your hand.”

“You cannot mean to destroy yourself, Elizabeth?” cried Lord Roos, appalled.

“I mean to trouble you no longer.  I mean to make the last and greatest sacrifice I can for you; and to save you from a crime—­or, if you must share the crime, at least to screen you from punishment.  Look, here!” she added, producing a small phial.  “Bid me drink of this, and ere to-morrow you are free, and I am at rest.  Shall I do it?”