In another moment she was gone.
"Thank heaven that I was enabled to master my rage," cried Reginald, when he was once more alone. "Oh! how I longed to fall upon her—to tear her to pieces! The selfish harlot—as if I could not read her soul now—as if I were any longer her dupe. But I shall be avenged upon her—I shall be avenged! My death will be the signal of her exposure—my dissolution will be the beginning of her shame! Oh! deeply shall she rue every caress she has lavished upon me—every accursed wile that she practised to ensnare me! Her blandishments will turn to moans and tears—her smiles to the contortions of hell. The fascinating syren shall become the mark for every scornful finger. Fool that she is—to think I would die unavenged! If my existence be cut short suddenly—hers shall be dragged out in sorrow and despair."
Then the rector paced his cell, while from his breast escaped a hoarse sound like the low growling of a wild beast.
But we will not dwell upon the wretched man's thoughts and words throughout that long day.
Evening came.
Six o'clock struck; and Reginald feared no farther interruption from the turnkeys.
He then sate down to write two letters.
Having occupied himself in this manner for a short time, he sealed the letters, and addressed them.
When this task was accomplished, he felt more composed and calm than he had done during the day.
He walked three or four times up and down his cell.