“Perfectly,” replied Luke Hatton.

“O, do not give this fatal order, my Lord!” cried Lady Exeter, trembling.

“How many days do you require to effect their removal?” demanded Lord Roos, without appearing to notice her remark.

“I do not require many hours,” replied Luke Hatton; “but it will be well not to be too precipitate.  Neither must they die at the same time.  All precaution shall be taken.  The names are placed in a particular order.  Is it so the Countess would have them taken?  In that case I must commence with Lady Roos.”

“Wretch! dost thou dare to make such an appeal to me?” cried Lady Exeter rising.  “Begone, instantly, I say.  Thou hast no order whatever from me; or if thou fanciest so, I revoke it.”

“The order cannot be revoked,” cried Lord Roos, grasping her arm.  “This is not a time for hesitation or repentance.  Having commenced the work, you must go through with it—­whether you will or not.”

“Whether I will or not!” exclaimed Lady Exeter, regarding him with angry surprise.  “Have I heard you aright, my Lord?  Am I to be forced into association in this foul deed?  Have I sunk so low in your esteem that you venture to treat me thus?”

“Pardon me, Frances—­pardon me!” he cried, imploringly.  “I have said more than I intended.  If I appear to exercise undue influence over you now, you will forgive me hereafter, because the situation is one that requires decision, and that quality I possess in a higher degree than yourself.  Luke Hatton must obey the orders given him.  And you must sanction them.”

“Never!” she exclaimed, emphatically.

“Then we part for ever,” cried Lord Roos.  “No matter what the pang may be—­nor what befals me—­I will go.  Farewell for ever, Countess!”

“Stay!” she cried.  “We must not part thus.”

“Then you consent?” he exclaimed.  “Luke Hatton receives his orders from you?”

“Ask me not that question!” she cried, with a shudder.

“If her ladyship will but sign this,” said Luke Hatton, holding towards her the paper on which the names were written, “it will suffice for me.”

“You hear what he says, Frances.  You will do it?” cried Lord Roos. “’Tis but a few strokes of a pen.”

“Those few strokes will cost me my soul,” she rejoined.  “But if it must he so, it must.  Give me the pen.”

And as Lord Roos complied, she signed the paper.

“Nov you may go,” said Lord Roos to Luke Hatton, who received the paper with a diabolical grin.  “You may count upon your reward.”

“In a week’s time, my lord,” said Luke Hatton, still grinning, and shifting his glance from the half-fainting Countess to the young nobleman; “in a week’s time” he repeated, “you will have to put on mourning for your wife—­and in a month for your mother-in-law.”

And with a cringing bow, and moving with a soft cat-like footstep, he quitted the room, leaving the guilty pair alone together.