away, leading the pony she had been riding
"as soon as ever Frank is off my hands! And
never fear but I'll finish the Epithalamium,
if I invoke all the Nine, at once, to my aid."

She lingered to look after him as he rode
down the lane, on his glossy chestnut hunter,
singing joyously, and with many a bright
backward look and glad farewell.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE autumn day had long since closed.
Lurid clouds shut in the horizon; and the
full harvest moon waded through majestic
clouds—now walled in dense masses—now in
fragments of grotesque shape. Lady Irwin
stood on the balcony on which her dressing-
room opened. The heavy shade of the trees;
the stillness, broken fitfully by the moanings
of the rising wind, and the jagged clouds;
were in grand harmony with her spirit. The
weight at her heart seemed a little lightened
as she contemplated, in the deepening night,
this tempest hatching in apparent calm, and
ready to burst.

The door of the chamber opened, but so
softly, that it was only by the current of air
produced that Lady Irwin was aware of it.
Agnese entered the room, her olive cheek
pale, and her thin lips compressed.

Lady Irwin stepped slowly from the
balcony, her eyes fixed in eager inquiry on her
attendant.

"It is done," said the Italian, speaking with
difficulty from her parched throat. Then,
after a pause, she added, more quickly, "it
was quite easy. The glass was on the table
where Elton had placed it, with the Seltzer
water. It was all as usual. The night is
hot; he will certainly drink."

"If he should discover it," said Lady
Irwin.

"I placed the powder in the glass as you
bade me. It is impalpable,—if there is only
enough."

"What I gave you would destroy half-a-
dozen lives. But what, if he should not
drink?"

"I do not fear that. He will be weary.
And lest that cold drink should be
insufficient to tempt him, I got some claret, and
placed it hard by. The Curé has no great
choice of wines. He will not fail to drink."

"Is he not yet come home? He lingers
tonight: I wish it were over. This suspense
is unendurable. Did you hear nothing
then?"

"Only the sighing of the wind through the
trees. There will be wild work among them
to-night. Wild work within, and wild work
without: stout young branches rent and
snapped, like a tulip by the hand of a child."

"Be silent, Agnese," cried Lady Irwin,
fiercely; "the sound of your voice makes me
mad! Be silent, and let me listen."

In obedience to her command Agnese was
silent. The agony of expectation became
every moment more intense. Yet there was
no touch of remorse—no timely repentance.
Every nerve was stimulated to the highest
pitch of sensibility. Sounds, in general
scarcely audible, seemed so loud and
importunate, as to be almost unendurable. Every
pulsation of the great clock on the staircase,
the fluttering of a moth against the window,
the whizzing of a bat's wing in its tortuous
flight, were all so many sources of agony.

"The glass must be changed, and the wine
taken away," said Lady Irwin, at last, unable
longer to endure the silence. "Have you
thought of that, Agnese? They will betray
us."

"I shall not dare to go in," cried Agnese,
shrinking with terror.

"Not dare to go in!" repeated Lady Irwin,
with surprise. "Why not? What should
you fear?"

"When he is dead!" said Agnese, in a low
voice.

"What harm can the poor clay do you,
simpleton?" cried Lady Irwin, scornfully.
"What! the daughter of Beatrice Pistorella!"

Agnese hung her head, and was silent.

"He will only look like one in a deep sleep—
like one in a deep leaden sleep. We have only
lulled him to sleep—to the sweet dreamless
sleep that knows no waking. His individual
essence—that in him which groaned and
suffered—will be resumed into the great all-
pervading soul. He is but rocked to sleep a
little before his time, to be reproduced in some
other form of being. It is she who will suffer;
the pain and the woe will be all hers. But
hark! I hear Sir Edward's door open. He
will be amazed to find me still dressed. Quick,
Agnese. Give me my dressing-gown, and let
down my hair."

As she hastened the operations of her waiting-
woman, whose hands, cold and clammy
with excitement, were little apt to render her
service, the clock struck eleven.

"He cannot be long now," said Lady Irwin,
assisting her maid to unfasten the long coils
of her hair. "If you are afraid to go alone,
wait for me, and, when Sir Edward is asleep,
I will come to your room, and we will go
together. How awkward you are to-night,
Agnese. Comb my hair carefully instead of
tearing it. Do you forget we are to have a
wedding to-morrow?"

At this moment Sir Edward came through
the dressing-room. He paused to say a few
words to his wife, and to make some inquiries
as to the arrangements for the morrow.
Lady Irwin's face reflected in the mirror,
shaded though it was by the profuse masses
of her hair, struck him by its extreme pallor,
made the more remarkable by the feverish
brilliancy of her eyes. He lingered to observe
her, and, tenderly chiding her negligence of
her health, closed the window.

It seemed to Lady Irwin and to Agnese
that he would never go. In vain she
returned short answers. He was evidently
disturbed about her. He would not go,