“Your lordship would have acted more discreetly in staying away,” replied Judith, recovering her resolution; “and I would recommend you not to meddle in the matter, but to leave it to me.  No suspicion shall alight on you, nor shall it even be known that her end was hastened.  Leave the house as secretly as you came, and proceed on your journey with a light heart.  She will never trouble you further.”

“What!” exclaimed Rochester, who was struck dumb for the moment by surprise and indignation, “do you imagine I would listen to such a proposal?  Do you think I would sanction her murder?”

“I am sure you would, if you knew as much as I do,” replied Judith, calmly.  “Hear me, my lord,” she continued, drawing him to a little distance from the bed, and speaking in a deep low tone.  “You cannot marry Mistress Mallet while this girl lives.”

Rochester looked sternly and inquiringly at her.  “You think your marriage was feigned,” pursued Judith; “that he was no priest who performed the ceremony; and that no other witnesses were present except Sir George Etherege and Pillichody.  But you are mistaken.  I and Chowles were present; and he who officiated was a priest.  The marriage was a lawful one; and yon sleeping girl, who, but for your ill-timed interference, would, ere this, have breathed her last, is to all intents and purposes Countess of Rochester.”

“A lie!” cried the earl, furiously.

“I will soon prove it to be truth,” rejoined Judith.  “Your retainer and unscrupulous agent, Major Pillichody, applied to Chowles to find some one to personate a clergyman in a mock marriage, which your lordship wished to have performed, and promised a handsome reward for the service.  Chowles mentioned the subject to me, and we speedily contrived a plan to outwit your lordship, and turn the affair to our advantage.”

The earl uttered an ejaculation of rage.

“Being acquainted with one of the minor canons of Saint Paul’s, a worthy and pious young man, named Vincent,” pursued Judith, utterly unmoved by Rochester’s anger, “who resided hard by the cathedral, we hastened to him, and acquainted him with the design, representing ourselves as anxious to serve the poor girl, and defeat your lordship’s wicked design—­for such we termed it.  With a little persuasion, Mr. Vincent consented to the scheme.  Pillichody was easily duped by Chowles’s statement, and the ceremony was fully performed.”

“The whole story is a fabrication,” cried the earl, with affected incredulity.

“I have a certificate of the marriage,” replied Judith, “signed by Mr. Vincent, and attested by Chowles and myself.  If ever woman was wedded to man, Amabel is wedded to your lordship.”

“If this is the case, why seek to destroy her?” demanded the earl.  “Her life must be of more consequence to you than her removal.”

“I will deal frankly with you,” replied Judith.  “She discovered me in the act of emptying that chest, and an irresistible impulse prompted me to make away with her.  But your lordship is in the right.  Her life is valuable to me, and she shall live.  But, I repeat, you cannot marry the rich heiress, Mistress Mallet.”