The woman was Catherine King. She had come down as she had promised, to carry out the mandate of the Secret Society, with a Judas kiss to invite Mary to her destruction.
On reaching Mrs. White's cottage that morning, she was informed by the maid that all the family were away, that they had gone to picnic in the woods.
"They will be back early this evening, then?" asked Catherine.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Very well, I will wait for them," and she went into the little drawing-room.
She waited there for about half-an-hour. She sat first on one chair, then on another; then paced up and down the room quickly. She looked out of the window; she took up book after book, only immediately to put it down again unread. She could not read just then—she could not think—she felt she could not even wait idle in that room any longer, or she would go mad.
She was distracted by a feverish nervousness, which was ever intensifying. She felt that she must go to Mary at once and do what was required of her—she must do it at once, before it became altogether impossible for her—so she rang the bell.
The maid entered the room.
"How far off is this picnic?" asked Catherine, curtly.
"About four miles I think, ma'am."