The perfect tranquillity of the old lady's manner removed the suspicion which Captain Hargood had certainly entertained; and closing the door, he retired to the room he had chosen for himself.
As soon as he was gone, Lady Margaret said, in a low tone, "So you were stopped, I suppose, by that rascal?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Annie Walton: "we had scarce taken twenty paces when he met us, and I was fool enough to lose all judgment; but this dear girl saved us both."
"Well," rejoined Lady Margaret, "there is but one means, then. I am weak, girls--very weak--or I would not have kept the good earl so long in darkness and in hunger for my own foolish thoughts. Come with me;" and, opening the door which led from the right-hand side of the withdrawing-room to her own chamber, she went in, closing it again when they had both passed, and fastening it with a bolt. She then paused for a moment in the midst, gazing down upon the floor with a look of deep sadness, and then approached a large closet, which she opened. It was full of shelves; but, putting her hand upon one of them, Lady Margaret drew it forth, laid it down beside her, and pushed hard against the one below. It instantly receded with the whole back of the closet, showing the entrance to a room beyond.
"See, but say nothing," whispered the old lady; and while Annie Walton followed with the lamp, she entered before them.
It was a small room, fitted up somewhat like a chapel, but hung with tapestry. At the farther end was a table or altar, covered with a linen cloth yellow with age, and having beneath what Annie Walton imagined to be the chalice and plate of the communion. Above, however, hung the picture of a very young woman, whose sweet and radiant look, yet tender and mournful eyes, might well have accorded with a representation of the Blessed Virgin; but the figure was dressed in the fashion of no very remote time; and as soon as Lady Margaret raised her eyes to it, the tears rose in them, and tottering to one of the large crimson chairs that were ranged along the side, she sank into it and bent her head in silence.
Annie Walton and Arrah Neil stood and gazed upon the picture as if they were both fascinated, but neither spoke; and at length Lady Margaret rose again, saying abruptly, "I am a fool, and will be so no more. This is the chamber of retribution, my sweet Arrah," she continued, approaching the two fair girls, and taking the lamp out of the hand of Miss Walton. "Here for many a year I and one now gone wept and prayed for forgiveness;" and, holding up the lamp towards the picture, she gazed at it with a mournful look. Then, laying her hand upon the edge of the cloth which covered the table, she seemed about to withdraw it, but paused, and her face became almost livid with emotion. "I will do it!" she said at length; "I will do it--but say nothing--ask no question--utter not a word!"
As she spoke, she cast back the cloth; and lying on the table, which was covered with crimson velvet, appeared a pale and gory human head, severed at the neck. The face was turned up, the eyes were closed, the mouth was partly open, and the fine white teeth were shown. Though pale as ashes, the traces of great beauty remained in the finely-chiselled features: the curling lip, covered with the dark moustache; the wide, expansive brow, the high forehead, the blue tinge of the eyes shining through the dark-fringed lids--all showed that in life it must have been the face of as handsome a man as ever had been seen, but over all was the grey shade of death.
Annie Walton started back in terror; but Lady Margaret turned to her sternly and sadly, saying, "Foolish girl! it is but wax. For you it has none of those memories that give it life for me. There--you have seen enough!" and she drew the cloth back again over that sad memento. Then, gazing for a moment again at the picture, the old lady set the lamp down upon the table; and casting her arms round the fair neck of Arrah Neil, she leaned her eyes upon her shoulder and wept bitterly.
Annie Walton would not intrude upon her aunt's grief, either by asking any questions or by calling to her remembrance the situation of the Earl of Beverley, although, as soon as the first impression of the extraordinary spectacle which had been presented to her had passed away, the state in which her lover had been so long kept naturally occurred to her mind. But Lady Margaret, herself a woman of strong and vigorous character, though somewhat eccentric in her habits of thought, soon roused herself, and starting up she wiped the tears from her eyes, exclaiming, "This is not all folly, my child; but yet any grief, if it prevent us from doing our duty, is a weakness and a wrong. Come, we will soon find the earl."