"Yes—I would not fail you," answered Cecilia, throwing herself into a chair: "but I tremble—oh! I tremble like a leaf."
"Have you brought—it?" asked Reginald in a hollow tone.
Cecilia drew from her bosom a small crystal phial, and handed it to the rector.
He greedily withdrew the cork, and placed the bottle to his nostrils.
"Yes—you have not deceived me! Now—now," he exclaimed, as he carefully concealed the phial about his person, "I am the master of my own destinies!"
And, as he spoke, his countenance was animated with an expression of diabolical triumph.
Cecilia was alarmed.
"My God, what have I done?" she cried; "perhaps I have involved myself——"
"Set aside these selfish considerations," said the rector; "you have earned wealth—for I have kept my promise—I have bequeathed all my fortune to you."
"Do not imagine that I shall ever receive enjoyment from its possession, dear Reginald," returned Cecilia, affecting a tenderness of tone and manner which she did not feel.