"It is now nearly three. The tidal train for Folkestone starts at six. Your arrangements for next Saturday are all made, of course?"
"They are." Wonder and fear and a strange sense of dependence on this dreadful woman were growing on Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridge with every moment.
"Then all is easy--if you can trust your maid."
"I can, implicitly; but what must she do?"
"Settle everything here, and take your luggage to Liverpool. You will not be able to make an hour's delay on your return; you must go straight through. You must travel without a servant for once--no--take your page; he is better out of the way--"
"I will do as you tell me; but you have not said how I am to account for going."
"No," said Harriet, absently; "but that will be easy. He will think you a fool, and easily frightened, but your vanity must bear that--it's not a heavy price to pay for safety."
There was a pretty writing-table in the room, covered with elegant trifles. Harriet approached it, and opened a blotting-book. Some sheets of thick perfumed paper, with dainty monogram and motto, lay within it. On one of them she wrote as follows:
"All is discovered. Your wife has been here, and has terrified me by her threats. Our scheme must be abandoned. I cannot stay an hour here, not even to consult you; I am in fear of my life. Come to me at once, to Amiens. I leave to-night, and will telegraph from thence. If you do not join me on Saturday morning, I shall conclude you have given me up."
She rose, and desired Mrs. Ireton P. Bembridge to take her place.