Self-Raised; Or, From the Depths

by Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

CHAPTER XXX.

A NIGHT OF HORROR.

He threw his sting into a poisonous libel
And on the honor of—oh God!—his wife,
The nearest, dearest part of all men's honor,
Left a base slur to pass from month to mouth,
Of loose mechanics with all foul comments,
Of villainous jests and blasphemies obscene;
While sneering nobles in more polished guise
Whispered the tale and smiled upon the lie.
—Byron.

Claudia passed a weary day. She did not cease in her efforts to discover some clew to the disappearance of old Katie. But all her efforts were fruitless of success.

Early in the afternoon the carriage that was sent for Mrs. MacDonald returned, bringing that lady.

Claudia did not go down into the drawing room to receive her; she considered Mrs. Dugald's companion, whatever her pretensions might be, no proper associate for Lady Vincent. She met the visitor, however, at dinner, which was served some hours earlier than usual in order to give the play-going party time enough to reach their destination before the rising of the curtain. She found Mrs. MacDonald to be a thin, pale, shabby woman, about forty years of age; one of those poor, harmless, complacent creatures who, when they can de so without breaking any law of God or man, are willing to compromise a good deal of their self-respect to secure privileges which they could not otherwise enjoy.

And though Mrs. MacDonald was a descendant of the renowned "Lords of the Isles," and was as proud of her lineage as any aristocrat alive, yet she did not hesitate to accept an invitation, to go to the theater with Lord Vincent, who was called a "fast" man, and Mrs. Dugald, who was more than a suspected woman. Claudia treated this lady with the cold politeness that the latter could neither enjoy nor complain of. Immediately after dinner the party left for Banff.

Few good women have ever been so distressingly misplaced as Claudia was; therefore few could understand the hourly torture she suffered from the mere presence of her vicious companions, or the infinite sense of relief she felt in being rid of them, if only for one evening. She felt the atmosphere the purer for their absence, and breathed more freely than she had done for many days.

She soon left the drawing room, whose atmosphere was infected and disturbed with memories of Mrs. Dugald, and retired to her own boudoir, where all was comparatively pure and peaceful.

A deep bay-window from this room overhung the sea. There was a softly cushioned semicircular sofa around this window, and a round mosaic table within it.

Claudia drew aside the golden-brown curtains and sat down to watch the gray expanse of ocean, over which the night was now closing.

While gazing abstractedly out at sea she was thinking of Katie. Now that the darkening influence of Mrs. Dugald's and Lord Vincent's presence was withdrawn from her sphere, she was enabled to think clearly and decide firmly. Now that the viscount no longer stood before her, exercising his diabolical powers of duplicity upon her judgment, she no longer believed his protestations of ignorance in regard to Katie's fate. On the contrary, she felt convinced that he knew all about it. She did not now suppose, what her first frenzied terrors had suggested, that Katie had been murdered, but that she had been abducted, or confined, to prevent her from divulging some secret to the prejudice of the viscount of which she had become possessed. For Claudia had read the viscount's character aright, and she knew that though he would not hesitate to break every commandment in the Decalogue when he could do so with impunity, yet he would not commit any crime that would jeopardize his own life or liberty. Therefore she knew he had not murdered Katie; but she believed that he had "sequestrated" her in some way.

Having come to this conclusion, Claudia next considered what her own duty was in the premises. Clearly it was for her to take every measure for the deliverance of her faithful servant, no matter how difficult or repugnant those measures should be.

Therefore she resolved that early the next morning she would order the carriage and go on her own responsibility and lodge information with the police of the mysterious disappearance of her servant and the suspicious circumstances that attended her evanishment. Claudia knew that the eye of the police was still on the castle, because it was believed to hold the undetected murderer of Ailsie Dunbar, and that, therefore, their action upon the present event would be prompt and keen. She knew, also, that the investigation would bring much exposure and scandal to the castle and its inmates; and that it would enrage Lord Vincent and result in the final separation of herself and the viscount. But why, she asked herself, should she hesitate on that account?

The price for which she had sold herself had not been paid. She had her empty title, but no position. She was not a peeress among peeresses; not a queen of beauty and of fashion, leading the elite of society in London. Ah, no! she was a despised and neglected wife, wasting the flower of her youth in a remote and dreary coast castle, and daily insulted and degraded by the presence of an unprincipled rival.

Claudia was by this time so worn out in body and spirit, so thoroughly wearied and sickened of her life in the castle, that she only desired to get away with her servants and pass the remainder of her days in peaceful obscurity.

And her contemplated act of complaining to the authorities was to be her first step towards that end. Having resolved upon this measure, Claudia felt more at ease. She drew the curtains of her window, and seated herself in her favorite easy-chair before the bright, sea- coal fire, and rang for tea. Sally brought the waiter up to her mistress, and remained in attendance upon her.

"Has anything been heard of Katie yet?" inquired Lady Vincent.

"No, ma'am, nothing at all," answered Sally through her sobs.

"Don't cry; tell them when you go down, to keep up the search through the neighborhood; and if she is not forthcoming before to- morrow morning, I will take such steps as shall insure her discovery," said Lady Vincent, as she sipped her tea.

Sally only wept in reply.

"Remove this service now. And you need not come up again this evening unless you have news to bring me of Katie, for I need to be alone," said Lady Vincent, as she sat her empty cup upon the waiter.

Sally took the service from the room.

And the viscountess wheeled her chair around to the fire, placed her feet upon the fender, and yielded her wearied and distracted spirit up to the healing and soothing influences of night and solitude. As she sat there, the words of a beautiful hymn glided into her memory. Often before this evening, lying alone and wakeful upon her bed,— feeling the great blessing night brought her, in isolating her entirely from her evil companions, and drawing her into a purer sphere, feeling all the sweet and holy influences of night around her,—she had soothed her spirit to rest repeating the words of Mr. Longfellow's hymn:

"From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drinks repose;
The fountains of perpetual peace flows there,
From those deep cisterns flows.

Oh, Holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What souls have borne before,
Thou lay'st thy fingers on the lips of care
And they complain no more.

Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer,
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice prayed-for, the most fair,
The best beloved Night!"

She repeated it now. And it soothed her like a benediction,

A solitary night in her own boudoir would not seem to promise much enjoyment; yet Claudia was happier, because more peaceful now than she had ever seen since her first arrival at Castle Cragg.

She sat on, letting the hours pass calmly and silently over her, until the clock struck ten. Then to her surprise she heard a knocking at the outer hall door, followed by the sound of an arrival, and of many footsteps hastening up the stairs.

Claudia arose to her feet in astonishment, and at the same moment heard the voice of the viscount without, saying in ruffianly tones:

"Burst open the door then! Don't you see it is locked on the inside?" And with a violent kick the door of Claudia's boudoir, which certainly was not locked, was thrown open, and Lord Vincent, with inflamed cheeks and blood-shot eyes, strode into the room, followed by Mrs. Dugald, Mrs. MacDonald, and old Cuthbert.

"Keep the door, sir! Let no one pass out!" roared the viscount to his butler, who immediately shut the door and placed himself against it.

"My lord!" exclaimed Claudia, in indignant amazement, "what is the meaning of this violence?"

"It means, my lady, that you are discovered, run to earth, entrapped, cunning vixen as you are!" exclaimed the viscount, with an air of vindictive triumph.

Mrs. Dugald laughed scornfully.

Mrs. MacDonald turned up her chin contemptuously.

Old Cuthbert groaned aloud.

Claudia looked from one to the other, and then said:

"My lord, you and your friends appear to have been supping on very bad wine; I would counsel you to retire and sleep off its effects."

"Ha, ha, my lady! You take things coolly! I compliment you on your self-possession!" sneered the viscount.

Her heart nearly bursting with anger, Claudia threw herself into her chair, and with difficulty controlling her emotions, said:

"Will your lordship do me the favor to explain your errand in this room, and then retire with your party as speedily as possible?"

"Certainly, my lady, that is but reasonable, and is also just what I intended to do," said the viscount, bowing with mock courtesy.

And he drew a letter from his pocket and held it in his hand, while he continued to speak, addressing himself now to the whole party assembled in Lady Vincent's boudoir.

"It is necessary to premise, friends, that my marriage with this lady was a hasty, ill-advised, and inconsiderate one; unacceptable to my family, unfortunate for myself, humiliating in its results. For some weeks past my suspicions were aroused to the fact that all was not right between the viscountess and another member of my establishment. Cuthbert, keep that door! Let no one rush past!"

"Ah, me laird; dinna fash yoursel'! I'll keep it!" groaned the old man, putting his back firmly against the door.

"Lord Vincent," exclaimed Claudia haughtily, "I demand that you retract your words. You know them to be as false—as false as— yourself. They could not be falser than that!"

"I will prove every word that I have spoken to be true!" replied the viscount. Then continuing his story, he said: "This morning certain circumstances strengthened my suspicions. Among others the persistence with which her ladyship, though in good health, and with no other engagement at hand, resolved and adhered to her resolution to remain at home and miss the rare opportunity of seeing Mr. and Mrs. Dean in their great parts of Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Suspecting that her ladyship had some unlawful design in thus denying herself an amusement of which I know her to be excessively fond, and preferring to spend the evening at home, of which I know she is excessively tired, I ordered my faithful old servant, Cuthbert, to watch—not his mistress, Lady Vincent, but another individual—"

Here old Cuthbert interrupted the speaker with deep groans.

Claudia remained sitting in her chair, with her face as pale as death, her teeth firmly set, and her eyes fiercely fixed upon the face of the man who was thus maligning her honor.

He continued:

"How well my suspicions were founded, and how faithfully old Cuthbert has performed his duty, you will soon see. It appears that we had but just started on our drive, when Cuthbert, watching the motions of the suspected person, saw him steal towards Lady Vincent's apartments. The old man glided after him, and, unseen himself, saw him, the miscreant, enter Lady Vincent's boudoir."

"It is as false as Satan! Oh, you infamous wretch, what form of punishment would be ignominious enough for you!" cried Claudia, springing to her feet, her eyes flaming with consuming wrath.

But the viscount approached and laid his hand upon her shoulder, and forced her down into her seat again.

And Claudia, too proud to resist, where resistance would be but a vain, unseemly struggle, dropped into her chair and sat perfectly still—a marble statue, with eyes of flame.

The viscount, with fiendish coolness, continued:

"Cuthbert watched and listened on the outside of the door for some time, and then, thinking that the intruder had no intention of leaving the room, he went and wrote a note, and sent it by one of the grooms, mounted on a swift horse, to me. Ladies, you both saw the boy enter the theater and hand me this note. Your interest was aroused, but I only told you that I was summoned in haste to my lady's apartments, and begged you to come with me—"

"And I thought her ladyship was perhaps ill, and needed experienced help, or I should certainly not have followed your lordship into this room," said Mrs. MacDonald, who, however, made no motion to withdraw.

Mrs. Dugald's insulting laugh rang through the room.

"I beg pardon, madam; I know this is not a pleasant scene for a lady to take part in, but I needed witnesses, and necessity has no law. If you will permit me, I will read the note I received," said the viscount, with a diabolical sneer, as he unfolded the paper. He read as follows:

"'It is a' as your lairdship suspicioned. If your lairdship will come your ways hame at ance, you will find the sinful pair in me leddy's boudoir.'"

The note had neither name nor date.

"You know," pursued Lord Vincent, "that we hurried home; you saw me speak aside with Cuthbert in the hall; in that short interview he informed me that he had remained upon the watch, and that the villain had not yet left Lady Vincent's apartments; that he was still within them!"

"Oh, Cuthbert! I believed you to be an honest old man! It is awful to find you in league with these wretches!" exclaimed Claudia, in sorrowful indignation.

"Ou, me leddy! I'd rather these auld limbs o' mine had been streaket in death, ere I had to use them in siccan uncanny wark! But the Lord's will be dune!" groaned the old man, is such sincere grief that Claudia was thoroughly perplexed.

And all this time the viscount was continuing his cool, devlish monologue.

"It was for this reason, ladies, that I burst open the door and called you in; and it was to prevent the escape of the fellow that I placed Cuthbert on guard at the door. Now, my lady, that you understand the cause of the 'violence' of which you just now complained, you will please to permit me to search the room. You cannot complain that I have acted with unseemly haste. I have proceeded with great deliberation. In fact, your accomplice has had abundant time to escape, if he had the means."

"Lord Vincent, these outrages shall cost you your life!" exclaimed
Claudia, in the low, deep, stern key of concentrated passion.

"All in good time, my lady," sneered the viscount, commencing the humiliating search. He looked in the recess of the bay window; peeped behind curtains; opened closets: and finally drew a large easy-chair from the corner of the room.

"Pray, whom do you expect to find concealed in my apartment, my lord?" demanded Claudia, white with rage.

"My respectable valet, the good Mr. Frisbie. And here he is!" replied the viscount sarcastically.

And to Claudia's horror and amazement he drew the trembling wretch from his concealment and hurled him into the center of the room, where he stood with dangling arms and bending legs, pale and quaking, but whether with real or assumed fear Claudia could not tell.

"How came this fellow in my room?" she demanded, in consternation.

"Aye, sure enough! how did he come here?" sneered Lord Vincent.

Mrs. Dugald laughed.

Mrs. MacDonald raised both her hands in horror.

"Come! perhaps he'll tell us why he came here! Confess, you scoundrel! Say what brought you here!" exclaimed the viscount, suddenly changing his tone from cool irony to burning rage, as he seized and shook his valet.

"Oh, my lord, I will! I will! only let go my collar!" gasped the man, shaking or affecting to shake.

"Confess, then, you rascal! What brought you here?"

"Oh, my lord, mercy! mercy! I will confess! I will!"

"Do it, then, you villain!"

"Oh, my lord, I—I come—at—at my lady's invitation, my lord!"

"You came at Lady Vincent's invitation?" cried the viscount, shaking the speaker.

"Y-y-yes, my lord!" stammered the valet.

"You—came—at my invitation?" demanded Lady Vincent haughtily, fixing her eyes of fire on the creatures's dace.

"Yes, my lady, you know I did! It is no use for us to deny it now! Ah, my lady, I alwasy warned you that we should be found out, and now sure enough we are!" replied Frisbie.

Claudia clasped her hands and raised her eyes to Heaven with the look of one who would have called down fire upon the heads of these fiends in human form.

Lord Vincent continued to question his valet.

"Does Lady Vincent makes a practice of inviting you to her apartments?"

"Y-y-yes, my lord!"

"How often?"

"Wh-wh-whenever your lordship's abscence seems to make it safe."

"Then I am to understand that you are a favored suitor of Lady
Vincent's?"

"Yes, yes, my lord! Oh, my lord, I know I have done very wrong. I know I—"

"Do you know that you deserve death, sir?" demanded the viscount, in a voice of thunder.

"Oh, my lord, mercy! mercy! I know I am a great sinner! I could kill myself for it, if it wasn't for fear of losing my soul! All I can do now is to repent and confess! I do repent from the bottom of my heart; and I will confess everything! Yes, I will tell your lordship all about it and throw myself on your lordship's mercy! cried this remorseless villain.

"Enough! I wish to hear no more from you just at present. Your confession would be scarcely fir for the ears of these ladies. your testimony must be reserved for a future occasion," said the viscont. And then turning to Claudia with the coolest and most insulting hauteur, he said:

"And now! what have you to say to all this, my lady?"

Claudia advanced into the center of the room; her step was firm; her head erect; her cheeks burning; her eyes blazing; her whole form dilated and lifted to grandeur; she looked a very Nemesis—a very Goddess of Retribute Justice, as throwing her consuming glance around upon the group, who fairly quailed before her, she said:

"What have 'I to say to all this'? I say, Lord Vincent, be assured that you shall die for these insults! I say that I know this to be a foul conspiracy against my honor, and as feeble as it is foul! Oh, reptiles! base, venomous reptiles! Do you really suppose that the honor of a pure woman is of such a weak and sickly nature as to be destroyed by the poison of your calumnies? Fools! I shall leave this place for London tomorrow! I shall go at once to the American Legation and see our American minister, who is an old friend of my father. I will tell him all that has taken place and come to my knowledge, since I have lived under this accursed and polluted roof. I will advise with him as to the best measures to be taken for the discovery of my poor old servant, Katie, and for the unmasking and prosecuting to conviction the wretches who have conspired against my honor. What! I am the daughter of Randolph Merlin! The blood of an Indian king, who never spared a foe, burns along my veins! Take heed—beware—escape while you may! My lord, your fate shall find you, even though it follow you to the farthest ends of the earth! You are warned! And now, as a few moments since, my request that you would withdraw your accomplices from the room was disregarded, I must retire to my chamber."

And with the air and manner of an outraged queen, Claudia left the boudoir.

"Friends," said Lord Vincent, turning to his female companions, "your testimony will be hereafter required in this case. I beg you, therefore, in the name of justice, to make a mental note of what you have seen and heard to-night. Remember Lady Vincent's strange conduct in declining to accompany us to the theater and resolving to stay at home; remember the note that was brought me in my box and our unexpected return home; remember particularly that the door leading into Lady Vincent's apartments was fastened on the inside, and that I had to break it open; remember also that we found the wretch, Frisbie, concealed in the room, and that he made a full confession."

"It is not likely that we shall forget it, my lord!" said Mrs.
MacDonald gravely.

"No! what horror!" cried Mrs. Dugald.

"And now, ladies, I will no longer detain you from your necessary rest," said the viscount, ringing the bell, which the housekeeper, looking amazed, scandalized, and full of curiosity, answered.

"Murdock, show this lady, Mrs. MacDonald, to the blue suite of rooms, and place yourself at her service. Madam, pray order any refreshments you may require. Good-night, madam. Sister, good- night!"

"Good-night! good-night, my lord! I shall pray that you shall be able to bear this great misfortune with the fortitude becoming a man," said Mrs. MacDonald.

"Good-night, brother!" said Mrs. Dugald.

When the "ladies," attended by the housekeeper, had left the room and were quite out of hearing, Lord Vincent turned to his accomplice and whispered:

"You did that capitally, Frisbie. You would make an excellent actor. Anyone on earth, looking at you this evening and not knowing the truth, would have thought you were dying of mortification and terror—you shook and faltered so naturally."

"Oh, my lord!" returned the valet, in modest deprecation of this praise.

"You did; but now I wish you to tell me. How did you manage to awaken the suspicions of old Cuthbert? How did you manage to draw his eyes upon you—and draw him on to watch you until you entered the room without seeming to know that you were watched?"

"I tell you, my lord, that part of my task was hard. But I contrived to do it by pretending to watch him, and affecting to dodge out of sight every time he saw me. This excited his curiosity, and caused him to conceal himself in order to watch me. When I knew that he had done this, I began to creep towards my lady's apartments, knowing full well that he was stealing after me."

"But how did you contrive to get into the boudoir?"

"I wore list slippers, and your lordship knows that the thick carpets return no echo to the footstep, and that the doors open and shut silently. First I peeped through the keyhole, and I saw that her ladyship was sitting within the curtained recess of the hay window, looking out at sea, her attention being absorbed there, and her back being towards the door. So I just softly opened the door, entered the room, closing it after me and concealed myself behind your lordship's own great easy-chair, that I knew was never drawn from its dark corner,"

"For the good reason that the owner is never there to occupy it," sneered the viscount.

"Just so, my lord. And now I have told your lordship exactly how I managed matters, so as to make old Cuthbert our accomplice without his ever suspecting it."

"Old Cuthbert must think you a grand rascal."

"He does me great honor, your lordship."

"There! now go about your business, Frisbie. Of course you must get away from here by the morning's first light. It must be supposed that you have been kicked out. Remain in the neighborhood of Banff. You will be wanted as a witness."

"Yes, my lord; but in the meantime-I have saved nothing. I have no means."

"Oh, you mercenary rascal! You have saved your neck from the gallows, if you have saved nothing else. But here are ten pounds for present needs; and I will take care not to see you want for the future. Now be off with you. Your longer stay will excite surprise and conjecture."

"Your lordship is too good!" said the caitiff, bowing himself out.

Lord Vincent soon after left the boudoir and went downstairs. In the hall he found old Cuthbert up and waiting.

"You here yet, Cuthbert? Why don't you go to bed?"

"Ou, me laird, I couldna sleep wi' the thought o' siccan dishonor befa'ing the house!" groaned the old man.

"The dishonor attaches but to one person, and the house will be rid of it when she is cast forth," said the viscount.

"Ou, me laird! for pity, dinna do that! Send her ways back to her ain countrie. She's but a wee bit lassie after a'! And she's awa' fra fayther and mither, and a' her folk! And 'deed I canna bring mysel' to think that ill o' her, neither! 'deed no!"

"Cuthbert, are you out of your senses? What are you talking about? The man was found concealed in her room, and being discovered, confessed his guilt," said Lord Vincent.

"Aye, me laird, but she denied all knowledge of him; and she looked grand wi' the majesty of truth, me laird. Folk dinna look that way when they're leeing. And the lad Frisbie looked just as if he were leeing. Folk dinna look as he looked when they're telling the truth."

"Cuthbert, you are an old dolt! We do not depend on Frisbie's word, exclusively. We have the fact of finding him in the room."

"I misdoubt he e'en just hid himsel' in there for the purpose of robbery, unbeknownst to the leddy. And then cast the blame on her to help to shield himsel', the villain!"

"Cuthbert, you are in your dotage!" exclaimed the viscount angrily.

"It may be sae, my laird; but I canna think shame o' the leddy! Nay, I canna! Howbeit! richt or wrong, the shame has come till her. Sae, me laird, in marcy take an auld man's counsel, and e'en just gie her her dower, and send her her ways to her feyther's house."

"Cuthbert, your brain is softening. Hark ye! Get yourself off to bed."

"Aye, me laird," said the old man meekly, as he withdrew to his den; "but I canna think sin o' the leddy! nay, nay, I canna!"

When all the house was still Lord Vincent stole to the apartments of
Mrs. Dugald.

"Oh! I have been waiting for you so long and so impatiently," she said, as she placed him a chair at her dressing-room fireside.

"I came as soon as all was quiet. Oh, Faustina, how I am sinking my soul in sin and infamy for your sake!" exclaimed Lord Vincent, as a momentary qualm of shame sickened his heart.

"Do you repent it, then?" she inquired, with a glance that brought him to her feet, a slave once more, "do you repent it?"

"No, my angel, no! though we go to perdition, we go together! And it is joy and glory to lose myself for you—for you!" he exclaimed passionately, and attempting to embrace her.

"Ha! stop! beware! You are not free yet—nor am I your wife!" exclaimed the artful woman, withdrawing herself from his advances.

"But I shall be free soon, and you shall be my wife. You know it, Faustina. You know that I am your slave. You can do with me as you please. Then why be so cruel as to refuse me even one kiss?"

"That I may have nothing to reproach myself with in after time—when I shall be Lady Vincent. That you may not have to blush for your second viscountess, as you have had to blush for your first."

"Oh, Faustina, how coldly cruel and calculating you sometimes seem to me! Why do I love you so insanely that you possess my very soul? Why is it, beautiful witch?"

"Because I love you so much, mon ami."

"You do, you do! You really love me, 'Tina?"

"Oh, I do! You know I do! more than life!"

"Then let Satan have me after death! I do not care!" replied this desperate fool.

"Hush! this is a dangerous topic. It makes me reel. Give me a glass of water, Malcolm, and let us talk of something else," said the wily siren.

When she had drunk the water the viscount brought her she said:

"There is a question I have been dying to ask you all day, but I could get no good chance without the risk of being overheard—and that would have been ruin."

"What is the question, Faustina?"

The woman turned so deadly white that her black eyes gleamed like great balls of jet from a face of stone, as sinking her voice to the lowest key, she said:

"What have you done with it?"

"With what, Faustina?"

"With the dead body of the black woman?"

The viscount slowly lowered his finger and significantly pointed downward.

"Down there?" whispered Faustina.

The viscount nodded.

"Where we left it?"

"Yes."

"Oh, but that is not safe. There is suspicion. Suppose there should be a search; suppose there should be a discovery?" cried the woman in alarm. For she, who was not afraid of committing the worst crimes, was terribly afraid of meeting their consequences.

"Be at ease. I shall not leave her there long; the sea is near at hand," whispered the viscount.

"Yes, you may cast her into the sea; but the sea sometimes casts back its dead—especially when they have been murdered," shuddered the woman.

"The sea will not cast her back," said the viscount significantly.

"Oh. you will tie a heavy weight to her body! But when will you do it? Oh, I am in agony, until that is removed!"

"Be still! I hope to have an opportunity of removing it tonight."

"But you cannot do it alone. Let me help you. I would rather help you."

"No, I can and will do it without your help. Do you think, my angel, that I would permit you to engage in such dreadful work?"

"I helped you to stop her breath," said the woman hoarsely.

"That was a work of necessity that presented itself suddenly before us. This is different."

"But I would rather help. I would rather be present. I would rather see, for then I should know to a certainty that it was gone," she insisted.

"Can you not trust me?"

"No, no, I cannot trust anyone when my head is in danger of the guillotine."

"I tell you there are no guillotines in England."

"The other thing, then, which is worse, because it is more disgraceful. Hanging by the neck until one is dead! Ugh! No, I cannot trust you, Malcolm, where so much is at stake," said the woman, with a terrible shudder.

"You have no confidence in me then? And yet you say you love me.
Why, confidence is the very soul of love."

"Oh, yes, I love you, Malcolm. I love you more than words can tell. And it is for your safety as well as for my own that I am so cautious. And I have confidence in you, Malcolm. Only, being alone, you may not be able to do the work effectually. I must help you. The house is all still; everybody has retired; can we not go now and remove it?"

"No, not now; there is a vessel lying at anchor close under the shore. We must wait until she moves off."

"And the vessel may lay there a whole week. And in the meantime what becomes of the body?" exclaimed Faustina, her eyes wild with apprehension.

"I am assured by those who know, that the vessel will sail with the first tide to-morrow morning. So be tranquil. And now, Faustina, there is another subject which we must settle to-night. Lady Vincent leaves the castle early to-morrow morning. That is necessary; and though it cleaves my heart in two to part with you, I must do it for a season. The world must have no cause to talk of you and me, Faustina; of you, especially, for of you it would be the most likely to talk."

"Why of me?" inquired the ex-opera singer testily.

"Because, my dearest, you have more beauty and genius and fame than the world ever forgives in a woman," answered the viscount artfully.

"Oh!" said the siren, with an air of arch incredulity.

"And now, Faustina, it shall be for you to decide. Shall you remain here, with Mrs. MacDonald for a companion and chaperon, while I go to London to take the preliminary steps towards the divorce; or shall you go to Brighton or Torquay, or any other watering-place on the South Coast?"

Mrs. Dugald was very astute; she answered promptly:

"Oh, I will remain here. And then you will not be jealous. There is no one here to admire me except Mrs. MacDonald and old Cuthbert and Murdock."

"Bless you! Bless you! I do believe you love me because you anticipate my wishes so readily," said this devotee fervently.

"And now you must go, and say good-night! It is two o'clock in the morning and I am tired to death. And mind about that below, you know. And the first safe opportunity you have, come to me to help you remove it. Mind!" said Faustina, raising her finger.

"I will mind. Good-night! What, no kiss, even for good-night?" he said, as she recoiled from his offered salute.

"No. I reserve my kisses for my husband," she answered archly. Thus this evil woman, steeped to the lips in sin, affected the prude with the man she wished to secure. And while making and receiving the most ardent protestations of love, disallowed the very slightest caress.

The viscount, baffled and dissatisfied, but more determined than ever to marry this tantalizing beauty, left the room and retired to his own chamber.

Mr. Frisbie's work was over there, and Mr. Frisbie himself was absent, of course.