We must now request the reader to visit the noble mansion in the Strand,
erected by Thomas Cecil, then Earl of Exeter, and bearing-his name; in a
chamber of which Lord Roos and the Countess of Exeter will be found
alone together--alone for the last time.
Very different was the deportment of the guilty pair towards each other
from what it used to be. The glances they exchanged were no longer those
of passionate love, but of undissembled hatred. Bitter reproaches had
been uttered on one side, angry menaces on the other. Ever since the
fatal order had been wrested from the Countess, her peace of mind had
been entirely destroyed, and she had become a prey to all the horrors of
remorse. Perceiving the change in her sentiments towards him, Lord Roos
strove, by the arts which had hitherto proved so successful, to win back
the place he had lost in her affections; but failing in doing so, and
irritated by her reproaches, and still more by her coldness, he gave
vent to his displeasure in terms that speedily produced a decided
quarrel between them; and though reconciled in appearance, they never
again were to each other what they had been.
As this was to be their final meeting, they had agreed not to embitter
it with unavailing reproaches and recriminations. Lord Roos acquainted
the Countess that he had decided upon travelling into Italy and Spain,
and remaining abroad for a lengthened period; and the announcement of
his intention was received by her without an objection. Perhaps he hoped
that when put to this trial she might relent. If so, he was
disappointed. She even urged him not to delay his departure, and
concluded her speech with these words--
"Something tells me we shall meet no more in this world. But we are
certain to meet hereafter at the Judgment Seat. How shall we regard each
other then?"
"Trouble me not with the question," rejoined Lord Roos gloomily; "I have
not come here to listen to sermons, and will brook no more reproaches."
"I do not mean to reproach you, William," she returned meekly; "but the
thought of our dire offence rises perpetually before me. Would we could
undo what we have done!"
"I tell you it is too late," rejoined Lord Roos harshly.
At this moment Diego suddenly presented himself, and apologizing for the
abruptness of his entrance, accounted for it by saying that Sarah
Swarton besought a word with his Lordship. She brought a message, he
added, from Lady Roos, who was much worse, and not finding his Lordship
at his own residence had ventured to follow him to Exeter House to
deliver it.
"I will come to her anon," said Lord Roos carelessly.
"No, no; admit her at once, Diego," cried the Countess; "I would hear
what she has to say." And the next moment Sarah Swarton being ushered
into the room, she rushed up to her and eagerly demanded, "How fares it
with your lady? Is there any hope for her?"
"None whatever," replied Sarah, shaking her head sadly. "She is past all
chance of recovery."
"Then Heaven pardon me!" ejaculated the Countess, clasping her hands
together, and falling upon her knees.
Sarah Swarton gazed at her in astonishment; while Lord Roos, rushing
towards her, commanded her to rise.
"Take heed what you say and do, Countess," he whispered. "You will
excite this woman's suspicions."
"Why should your ladyship implore Heaven's pardon because my poor dear
lady is near her end?" inquired Sarah.
"I sue for it because I have caused her much affliction," replied the
Countess.
"Your message, Sarah--your message?" interposed Lord Roos. "What have
you to say to me?"
"My lady desires to see you once more before she expires, my lord,"
replied Sarah. "She would take leave of you; and--and--she has something
to impart to you. You will not refuse her last request?"
"He will not--he will not, I am sure," cried the Countess, seeing him
look irresolute.
"I did not expect to be seconded by you, my lady," observed Sarah, in
increasing surprise.
"Would that I, too, might see her and obtain her forgiveness!" exclaimed
the Countess, without heeding the remark.
"An idle wish, and not to be indulged," said Lord Roos.
A sudden idea appeared to strike Sarah, and she cried, "Your ladyship's
desire may possibly be gratified. My poor lady desires to part in peace
with all the world, even with those who have injured her. I will
communicate your wishes to her, and it may be she will consent to see
you."
"You shall have a reward well worthy of the service if you accomplish
it," said the Countess. "Hasten to her with all speed, my Lord, and I
will follow in my litter, ready to attend Sarah's summons."
"I like not the plan," rejoined Lord Roos. "You are wrong to go. Why
need you see her?"
"Why?" she answered, regarding him fixedly. "Because it may be some
little consolation to me afterwards."
"Then go alone," said Lord Roos savagely. "I will not accompany you."
"I do not ask you to accompany me, but to precede me," she replied.
"Now, mark me, my Lord," she added in a low, firm tone, "and be assured
I do not advance more than I will perform. If you refuse your wife's
dying request, I will go back with Sarah and confess all to her."
Lord Roos looked as if he could have annihilated her, and muttered a
terrible imprecation on her head.
"Threaten me--ay, and execute your threats hereafter if you will,"
continued the Countess in the same low decided tone, "but go you _shall_
now."
Her manner was so irresistible that Lord Roos was compelled to obey, and
he quitted the room without a word more, followed by Diego and Sarah
Swarton, the latter of whom signed to the Countess that she might depend
upon the fulfilment of her wishes.
They had not been gone many minutes before Lady Exeter entered her
litter, and wholly unattended by page or serving-man, except those in
charge of the conveyance, caused herself to be conveyed to Sir Thomas
Lake's lodgings in Whitehall.