She passed into the room as she spoke.
"Wait here," she said. "I must see her quite alone, but it will only be for a few minutes."
She closed the door and stood alone in the sick lady's room.
"Is it you, Mildred? The light is too strong."
"It is not Mildred, my lady. It is I."
"Sybilla Silver!"
No words can describe the look of agony, of terror, of repulsion, that crossed my lady's face. She held up both hands with a gesture of loathing and horror.
"Keep off!" she cried. "You murderess!"
"Yes," she cried, "that is the word—murderess!—for I murdered your daughter-in-law. You never liked her, you know, Lady Kingsland. Surely, then, when I stabbed her and threw her into the sea, I did you a good turn. Lie still, and listen to me. I have a long story to tell you, beginning with the astrologer's prediction."
With fiendish composure Sybilla repeated the story she had told Sir
Everard, while Lady Kingsland lay paralyzed and listened.