“Ay, this forgery, if you choose to call it so,” she returned.  “Let me have your opinion upon it?  Is it as it should be?  Are its expressions such as would be used by a guilty woman, like the Countess, imploring pity, and seeking to shield herself from disgrace?  Do you find fault with it?  Can it be amended in any particular?”

“I find such grave fault with it,” replied the Secretary of State, still without looking up, “that I would amend it by casting it into the flames.  Lady Lake, it is my duty to warn you.  This is a fearful crime you would commit, and severely punishable by the law.  You may excuse it to yourself, because you have an end in view which seems to justify the means; but the excuse will not avail you with others.  You have said that in a conflict with one so cunning and unscrupulous as our noble son-in-law, you are compelled to fight him with his own weapons—­to meet trick with trick, manoevre with manoeuvre; but take my word for it, you would more easily defeat him by straight-forward means.  Be ruled by me in this one instance.  Abandon a scheme which must inevitably lead to consequences I shudder to contemplate; and let this fabricated confession be destroyed.”

“Give it me,” she cried, snatching the paper from him.  “You were ever timid, Sir Thomas; and if you had not lacked courage, this expedient would not have been necessary.  Odious and dangerous as it is, the measure is forced upon me, and I shall not shrink from it.  But you shall not be called upon to play any part in the transaction.  I alone will do it.  I alone will be responsible for all that may ensue.”

“We shall all be responsible!” he rejoined.  “You will not only ruin yourself, but all your family, if this fearful step be taken.  Hitherto we have had right on our side, but henceforth we shall be more culpable than the others.”

“I am resolved upon the course,” cried Lady Lake; “and all your arguments—­all your warnings will not dissuade me from it, so you may spare your breath, Sir Thomas.  As you see, I have omitted the charge of witchcraft, and have only made the Countess confess her criminality with Lord Roos, and of this we have had abundant proofs; nay, we should have them still, if those condemnatory letters of hers, which had come into our possession, had not been stolen.  That mischance necessitates the present measure.  Having managed to deprive us of our weapons, Lord Roos thinks himself secure.  But he will find his mistake when this document is produced to confound him.”

“I tremble at the thought,” groaned the Secretary of State.

“These fears are worse than womanish,” exclaimed his lady.  “Shake them off, and be yourself.  Who is to prove that the confession proceeds not from the Countess?  Not she herself; since no one will believe her.  Not Lord Roos; for he will be equally discredited.  Not Diego; for his testimony would be valueless.  The Countess’s hand-writing has been so skilfully imitated, that the falsification cannot be detected.  Compare it with this note written by herself to Lady Roos, and which, though it proves nothing, has so far answered my purpose.  Compare, I say, the writing of the confession and the signature with this note, and declare if you can discern any difference between them.  As to the signatures of Lord Roos and Diego affixed to the document, they are equally well simulated.”