“It would be retribution!” exclaimed Annabella.
“It would be revenge!” cried the haughty old man.
Little did the Aumerles divine that the physician whom they had admitted in order that he might quiet a fevered pulse, was pouring venom into a wound which he should rather have sought to heal; that he was doing the work, obeying the hest of the demon Pride, and drawing further from happiness and peace the young creature who had turned to him in her distress.
There was a strange, almost fierce satisfaction in the looks of Dr. Bardon when he descended to the sitting-room, that was incomprehensible to the Aumerles.
“You will send her a sleeping draught?” said the vicar.
“I have given her something to compose,” replied Bardon, a grim smile relaxing his features.
“You think her very feverish?” inquired Ida.
“Oh, there’s nothing to alarm,” said the doctor; “she will be much relieved by-and-bye.”
As soon as he had quitted the vicarage, Ida went up to Annabella’s room, and gently knocked at the door.
“I wish to be alone!” said a voice from within, and Ida immediately retired.