At length she was sufficiently composed to induce him to take his departure; and, like a vile snake as he was in heart, he crept away from the chamber of the deflowered—the ravished girl.
As he stole thus stealthily along the passage, he observed a light streaming from Mrs. Slingsby's room, the door of which had been purposely left ajar.
He entered, and found his accomplice still up; nor had the abandoned woman felt the least inclination to retire to rest.
For her mind had been a prey to the most terrible alarms, from the moment when the baronet had first set foot in Rosamond's chamber.
"I have succeeded—and she will not proclaim the outrage to the world," said Sir Henry Courtenay, in a low tone. "I have, moreover, kept my word with you, and have made her believe that you are innocent of any share in the proceeding."
Mrs. Slingsby gave no answer, but bit her under lip forcibly—for vile as she herself was, she could hardly prevent herself from exclaiming to her companion, "You are a black-hearted monster!"
Sir Henry did not, however, notice that she was influenced by any emotion hostile to him; or if he did, he cared not to show that he perceived it;—but, wishing his mistress "good night," he quitted the room, and stole out of the house.
CHAPTER LXIX.
MISERY AND VICE.
A week had elapsed since the perpetration of the atrocity described in the preceding chapter.
The scene changes to a miserable garret in one of the foul courts leading out of King Street, St. Giles's.