“Perhaps she is resolved,” said Foster, “to await her husband's return.”
“True!—most true!” said Varney, rushing out; “I had not thought of that before.”
In less than two minutes, Foster, who remained behind, heard the tread of a horse in the courtyard, and then a whistle similar to that which was the Earl's usual signal. The instant after the door of the Countess's chamber opened, and in the same moment the trap-door gave way. There was a rushing sound—a heavy fall—a faint groan—and all was over.
At the same instant, Varney called in at the window, in an accent and tone which was an indescribable mixture betwixt horror and raillery, “Is the bird caught?—is the deed done?”
“O God, forgive us!” replied Anthony Foster.
“Why, thou fool,” said Varney, “thy toil is ended, and thy reward secure. Look down into the vault—what seest thou?”
“I see only a heap of white clothes, like a snowdrift,” said Foster. “O God, she moves her arm!”
“Hurl something down on her—thy gold chest, Tony—it is an heavy one.”
“Varney, thou art an incarnate fiend!” replied Foster;--“There needs nothing more—she is gone!”
“So pass our troubles,” said Varney, entering the room; “I dreamed not I could have mimicked the Earl's call so well.”