"What is to be done?" asked Fitzhardinge.
"God knows!" returned Cecilia; "and it is growing late! In half-an-hour it will be day-light. Besides, the servants will be about presently."
"The devil!" said the officer, impatiently.
"Stay," whispered Lady Cecilia: "I will go to the kitchen and obtain a light. Do not move from this spot: I will not be a moment."
She then glided away; and the officer remained at his post as motionless and as silent as a statue, for fear of alarming the inmates of the house. His thoughts were not, however, of the most pleasureable kind; and during the two minutes that Lady Cecilia was absent, his mind rapidly pictured all the probable consequences of detection—exposure, ridicule, law-suit, damages, the Queen's Bench prison, the divorce of the lady, and the necessity under which he should labour of making her his own wife.
This gloomy perspective was suddenly enlivened by the gleam of a candle at the further end of the hall, and which was immediately followed by the appearance of Lady Cecilia, with the light.
Still the corner in which Sir Rupert and his paramour were concealed was veiled in obscurity; while the baronet obtained a full view of the tall Guardsman, dressed in plain clothes, standing within a couple of yards of his hiding-place, and also of Lady Cecilia, attired in a loose dressing-gown, as she advanced rapidly towards the place where her lover awaited her.
But when Cecilia reached the immediate vicinity of the front door, the gleam of the candle fell upon that nook which had hitherto remained buried in obscurity.
A scream escaped the lady's lips, and the candle fell from her hands.
Fortunately it was not extinguished: Sir Rupert rushed forward and caught it up in time to preserve the light.