“Wicked it may be; but the excuse—­if I have any—­lies in my overwhelming passion for you, Frances,” replied Lord Roos in a frenzied tone.  “And it seems decided by the relentless destiny that governs me, that the continued indulgence of the fatal passion shall only be purchased at the price of my soul.  That penalty I am prepared to pay rather than lose you.  I will become obdurate, will turn my heart to stone, so that it shall no more melt at the tears of this fond, foolish woman; and I will slay her without remorse.  Any other obstacle between us shall be removed;—­be it her mother, her father—­your husband!  I will immolate a hundred victims at the altar of our love.  I will shrink from nothing to make you mine for ever.  For I would rather share eternal bale with you, Frances, than immortal bliss with another.”

“You almost make me fancy some evil being has obtained possession of you, William,” said the Countess, gazing at him with affright.

“It may be that the Fiend himself hath accepted my wild offer,” he rejoined gloomily; “but if my wish be granted it matters not.”

“I will not listen to such fearful impiety,” said the Countess, shuddering.  “Let us dismiss this subject for the present, and recur to it when you are calmer.”

“It cannot be postponed, Frances.  Time presses, and even now Lady Lake may have got the start of us.  I shall be calm enough when this is over.  Will you consent to see Luke Hatton?”

“Why need I see him?” inquired the Countess with increasing uneasiness.  “Why will you force his hateful presence upon me?  If the deed must be done, why can you not alone undertake it?”

“I will tell why I cannot,” he replied in a sombre tone, and regarding her fixedly.  “I must have a partner in the crime.  It will bind us to each other in links not to be severed.  I shall have no fear of losing you then, Countess.  I go to bring Luke Hatton to you.”

And without waiting for her reply he strode out of the room.  Lady Exeter would have arrested him, but she had not the nerve to do so, and with an exclamation of anguish she fell back in her chair.

“What dominion sin has usurped over me!” she mentally ejaculated.  “I have lost the power of resisting its further encroachment.  I see the enormity of the offence I am about to commit, and though my soul revolts at it, I cannot hold back.  I am as one on the brink of a precipice, who beholds the dreadful gulf before him, into which another step must plunge him, yet is too giddy to retreat, and must needs fall over.  Pity me, kind Heaven!  I am utterly helpless without thy aid.”

While the unhappy lady thus unavailingly deplored the sad position in which her own misconduct had placed her, and from which she felt wholly incapable of extricating herself; while in this wretched frame of mind, she awaited her lover’s return,—­with, as we have shown, some remains of good struggling with the evil in her bosom,—­we will cast a hasty glance round the chamber in which she sat.  And we are prompted to do this, not because it merits particular description, but because it was the room referred to by Lady Lake as the scene of the confession she had forged.