"I doubt if that fellow will be able to divest himself of his outer garments before he falls down headlong in a dead stupor. I have him in my power now—I have him in my power now! At last—at last! Oh, yes! Oh, yes, Miss Cavendish, you will marry him, will you not? And you, Stephen Lyle, how proud you will be to have his sister for your wife and himself for a brother-in-law! But I must cover up my tracks," she added, suddenly, as she went around to his vacated place at the table and took his empty cup and rinsed it out carefully several times, throwing the water into the empty grate, where it soon dried up. Then she poured some of the coffee-grounds from her own cup into the rinsed cup to conceal the rinsing. Finally she drew from her watch-pocket the little white paper from which she had poured the powder into the coffee-cup and she held it in the blaze of the gas-light until it was burned to ashes.
Then she sat down in the rocking-chair and smiled as she rested.
At intervals she bent her head toward the door leading into Alden Lytton's room and listened; but she heard no sound of life in there.
She sat on in the rocker until the striking of a large clock somewhere in the neighborhood aroused her.
It was twelve o'clock.
Midnight!
She arose and cautiously opened the door leading into Alden Lytton's room.
She looked like a thief.
The gas was turned down very low; but by its dim light she saw him sleeping a heavy, trance-like sleep.
She went into the room and to the door leading into the passage and bolted it.