"God bless my soul!" he repeated. "But, my dear, then I must go! To-night, then! Where is that other key? It would never do, you know—"
"No, Sir Richard, it would never do. Go, then!" spoke a low and icy voice, hers, yet not hers. "Hasten!" I heard her half whisper. "I think perhaps my father—"
But it was my own footsteps they heard. This was something to which I could not be party. Yet, rapidly as I walked, her visitor was before me. I caught sight only of his portly back, as the street door closed behind him. She stood, her back against the door, her hand spread out against the wall, as though to keep me from passing.
I paused and looked at her, held by the horror in her eyes. She made no concealment, offered no apologies, and showed no shame. I repeat that it was only horror and sadness mingled which I saw upon her face.
"Madam," I began. And again, "Madam!" and then I turned away.
"You see," she said, sighing.
"Yes, I fear I see; but I wish I did not. Can I not—may I not be mistaken?"
"No, it is true. There is no mistake."
"What have you done? Why? Why?"
"Did you not always credit me with being the good friend of Mr. Pakenham years ago—did not all the city? Well, then I was not; but I am, now! I was England's agent only—until last night. Monsieur, you have come too soon, too late, too late. Ah, my God! my God! Last night I gave at last that consent. He comes now to claim, to exact, to take—possession—of me ... Ah, my God!"