"There must be letters, meetings," said the Countess Lavinia, below her catching breath. "It were ill if you and I could not compass some knowledge which we could turn into weapons as sharp as those with which he to-night struck me—ay, and Marius Lyndwood, too—there must be means. Marius Lyndwood!" She repeated the name with a curious accent, as if, despite herself, she dwelt upon the words.
She put her fingers to her hot mouth and stared at the night clouds behind the house.
"We must hasten home, Honoria!" she cried, catching the girl by the arm. "Home!"
"'Twill all be well, my lady," whispered the maid. "They have had their turn. Yours comes."
As they reached the steps a soft warm rain began to fall, and the moon was entirely obscured.
"Who is this?" asked the Countess, stopping.
The door opened; a glow of intimate yellow light was diffused over the jasmine and roses, and a woman's figure showed.
"Miss Chressham!" breathed Honoria, and slipped behind her mistress.
The Countess gave a quick catch of her breath and clenched her hands.