“That the forgery is skilfully executed, I do not deny,” replied the Secretary of State; “and that circumstance, though it does not lessen the crime, may lessen the chance of detection.  Since nothing I can urge will turn you from your design, and you are determined to employ this dangerous instrument, at least be cautious in its use.  Terrify Lord Roos with it, if you choose.  Threaten to lay it before the Earl of Exeter—­before the King himself—­in case of our son-in-law’s non-compliance with your demands.  But beware how you proceed further.  Do not part with it for a moment; so that, if need be, you may destroy it.  Do you heed me, my lady?”

“I do, Sir Thomas,” she replied.  “Be assured I will act with due caution.—­I am glad to find you are coming round to my views, and are disposed to countenance the measure.”

“I countenance it!” exclaimed the Secretary of State, in alarm.  “No such thing.  I disapprove of it entirely, and cannot sufficiently reprehend it.  But, as I well know, when you have once made up your mind, the fiend himself cannot turn you from your purpose, I give you the best counsel I can under the circumstances.  I wash my hands of it altogether.  Would to Heaven I had never been consulted upon it—­never even been made acquainted with the project.  However, as you have gone so far with me you may go a step further, and let me know what story you mean to attach to this confession?  How will you feign to have obtained it?”

“The statement I shall make will be this, and it will be borne out by so many corroborative circumstances that it will be impossible to contradict it.  You observe that the document is dated on the 10th of April last.  It is not without reason that it is so dated.  On that day I and our daughter, Lady Roos, attended by her maid, Sarah Swarton, proceeded to the Earl of Exeter’s residence at Wimbledon, for the purpose of having an interview with the Countess, and we then saw her in the presence of Lord Roos and his servant Diego.”

“But you gained nothing by the journey?” remarked her husband.

“Your pardon, Sir Thomas,” she rejoined; “I gained this confession.  On the way back I reflected upon what had occurred, and I thought how flushed with triumph I should have been if, instead of meeting with discomfiture, I had gained my point—­if I had brought the haughty Countess to her knees—­had compelled her to write out and sign a full avowal of her guilt, coupled with supplications for forgiveness from my injured daughter and myself—­and as a refinement of revenge, had forced Lord Roos and his servant to attest by their signatures the truth of the confession!  I thought of this—­and incensed that I had not done it, resolved it should be done.”

“An ill resolve!” muttered her husband.

“In Luke Hatton, our apothecary, I had the man for my purpose,” pursued Lady Lake.  “Aware of his marvellous talent for imitating any writing he pleased—­aware, also, that I could entirely rely upon him, I resolved to call in his aid.”