The atrocious revelation ended, she looked at her prostrate foe with a diabolical smile.
"My oath is kept; the prediction is fulfilled. In a few hours the last of the Kingslands dies by the hand of the common hangman. I have told you all, and I dare you to injure one hair of my head. Within the hour my journey from England commences. Search for last year's snow, for last September's partridges, and when you find them you may hope to find Sybilla Silver. Burn the prediction, destroy my grandmother's portrait and lock of hair, so carefully hidden away for many years. Their work is done, and my vengeance is complete. Lady Kingsland, farewell!"
"Murderess!" spoke a deep and awful voice—"murderess! murderess!"
"Ah-h-h-h-h!"
With a shriek of wordless affright, Sybilla Silver leaped back, and stood cowering against the wall. For the dead had risen and stood before her. The phantom slowly advanced.
"Murderess, confess your guilt!"
"Mercy, mercy! mercy!" shrieked Sybilla Silver. "Spare me! Touch me not! Oh, God! what is this?"
"Confess!"
"I confess—I murdered you—I stabbed you! Sir Everard is innocent!
Keep off! Mercy! mercy!"
With an unearthly scream, the horrified woman threw up both arms to keep off the awful vision, and fell forward in strong convulsions.