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.