But the moment Rosalie had closed the door behind the Marquis, he uttered an ejaculation of mingled astonishment and rage, and springing towards Mrs. Mortimer, exclaimed, “Ah! I meet you again, vile woman! Give me up my daughter—tell me where you have hidden her!”
And he caught her violently by the arm.
“I know what you mean, my lord,” said the old woman, hastily: “but you accuse me wrongfully.”
“Wrongfully!” repeated the Marquis, his countenance white with rage: “no—no! I only accuse you justly—for it must be you who have spirited away my child—my beloved Agnes!”
“It is false!” ejaculated the old woman, with an emphasis which made him release his hold of her and fall back two or three paces.
“False, you say!” he cried. “Oh! then, if you have really not done this flagrant wrong—but if you are in possession of any clue—”
“I am—I am,” interrupted Mrs. Mortimer, seeing in a moment that a reward was to be obtained and her spite against Lord William Trevelyan to be gratified at the same time: for she did cherish the bitterest animosity against that young nobleman, on account of his conduct towards her when, four days previously, she had taken Agnes Vernon to his house in Park Square.
“And yet I cannot conceive you to be innocent in this matter,” exclaimed the nobleman, surveying her with deep distrust and aversion—and all this time taking no notice of Laura, so profoundly were his feelings engrossed by the subject which now occupied his mind: “for wherefore did you visit the cottage where Agnes dwelt?—why did you intrude yourself upon her presence?”
“All that can be readily explained, my lord,” responded Mrs. Mortimer, not losing an atom of her self-possession.
“Then tell me where my daughter is—tell me what has become of her?” cried the nobleman, in an appealing tone; “and if you have been concerned in removing her from the cottage, I will forgive you! Nay, more—I will reward you handsomely.”