"Weep, madam, weep," rang the iron voice of that stern denunciator once more in her ears: "weep—for you have good cause! Not for the wealth of the universe would I harbour the feelings which ought to be—must be yours at this moment."
A pause ensued, which was interrupted by the entrance of a clerk who whispered something in the lawyer's ear, and then withdrew.
"I request your ladyship to have the goodness to remain here until my return," said Mr. Wharton. "I shall not keep you long."
The lawyer passed into the outer office; and Cecilia was now alone.
The reader can scarcely require to be reminded that this lady was not one who was likely to remain long depressed by a moral lesson, however severe its nature.
Scarcely had the lawyer left her, when she raised her head, and thought within herself, "I have been deceived—cruelly deceived; and if I did Reginald any wrong, he is amply avenged. One thing seems certain—he has retained the secret of the means by which he obtained the poison. He has not compromised me there; or else this harsh man would have been only too glad to throw that also in my teeth. Thus, my position might have been worse!"
Such was the substance of Lady Cecilia Harborough's musing during the absence of the lawyer.
This absence lasted nearly a quarter of an hour; and then he returned to the office.
He held an open letter in his hand.
"Lady Cecilia Harborough," he said, in a tone of increased sternness, "the measure of your guilt is now so full, that justice demands an explanation at your hands."