CHAPTER CCXXXVI.
WOMAN AS SHE OUGHT TO BE.
A quarter of an hour after the interview between Lady Ravensworth and the Resurrection Man, Eliza Sydney repaired to the little parlour before mentioned, in compliance with a message which had been conveyed to her from Quentin.
The moment she entered that room she was struck by the ghastly and alarming appearance of the valet.
He was pacing the apartment with agitated steps; his face was as pale as death—his eyes rolled wildly in their sockets—and his entire aspect was that of a man who had just seen some terrible spectacle, or heard some appalling revelation.
"In heaven's name, what is the cause of this excitement?" asked Eliza, advancing towards the valet, after she had carefully closed the door.
"Oh! madam—oh! Mrs. Beaufort," exclaimed Quentin, clasping his hands together through the intenseness of his mental anguish; "by playing the part of your spy I have learnt a most dreadful secret! Merciful God! this house has become the head-quarters of diabolical crime: its very atmosphere is tainted with the foul breath of murderers;—destruction lurks within its walls. Oh! accursed house, of which not one stone should be left upon another!"
"Quentin, you alarm me!" cried Eliza. "Speak—explain yourself! What mean these strange expressions?"
"Madam," said the valet, drawing close to her, and speaking in a low and hollow tone, "have you heard of a certain Lydia Hutchinson, who disappeared from this dwelling about two months ago?"
"Yes: the nurse was this morning telling me something about that event," answered Eliza; "but Lady Ravensworth hastened to change the conversation."
"And no wonder, madam—no wonder!" observed Quentin. "Oh! that I should still remain in the service of one who has perpetrated such a deed!"