"True. But I would not betray you."
"No—we must each shift for ourselves—we must each shift for ourselves, as best we can," replied the hag flatly. "Indeed, I may as well remind you, Lady Cecilia, that your day is gone—you are ruined—and, if you had any spirit, you would not survive it!"
"My God! what do you mean?" faltered Cecilia, in a faint tone.
"The river is deep, or the Monument is high," answered the hag, in a significant tone; "and you are near both!"
The wrinkled old harridan then hobbled out of the court as quickly as her rheumatic limbs would carry her.
"Even she deserts me!" murmured Cecilia to herself, and with difficulty suppressing an ebullition of feeling which would have attracted notice, and probably led to her detection: "even she deserts me! My God—is there nothing left to me but suicide? No—nothing!"
Her countenance wore, beneath her veil, an expression of blank despair, as she arrived at this appalling conviction; and for some moments she stood as if rooted to the spot.
"No—nothing left but that," she murmured, awaking from her temporary stupefaction: "nothing—nothing!"
And although these words were uttered in the lowest whisper, still it seemed as if she shrieked them within herself.
Then she hurried from the court.