“When do they leave?”

“To-night.  It appears a friend of Mr. Parmalee is captain of a little vessel down in the harbor, and he sails for Southampton at the turn of the tide—­somewhere past midnight.  It is a very convenient arrangement for all parties.  By the by, Mr. Parmalee told me to remind you, my lady, of the three hundred pounds.”

“Mr. Parmalee is impertinent.  I need no reminder.  Have you anything more to say, Miss Silver?”

“Only this, my lady:  the servants’ entrance on the south side of the house will be the safest way for you to take, and the nearest.  If you dread the long, dark walk, my lady, I will be only too happy to accompany you.”

“You are very good.  I don’t in the least dread it.  When I wish you to accompany me anywhere I will say so.”

Sybilla bowed, and the darkness hid a sinister smile.

“You have no orders for me, then, my lady?”

“None.  Yes, you had better see Claudine, and say I shall not require her services to-night.  Inform me when the servants have all retired, and”—­a momentary hesitation, but still speaking proudly—­“does Sir Everard dine at home this evening?”

“Sir Everard just rode off as I came in, my lady.  He dines with Major Morrell and the officers, and will not return until past midnight, very likely.  He is always late at those military dinners.”

“That will do; you may go.”

“Shall I not light the lamp, my lady?”

“No; be good enough to leave me.”

Sybilla quitted the room, her white teeth, set together in a viperish clinch.

“How she hates me, and how resolved she is to show it!  Very well, my lady.  You don’t hate me one thousandth part as much as I hate you; and yet my hatred of you is but a drop in the ocean compared to my deadly vengeance against your husband.  Go, my haughty Lady Kingsland—­go to your tryst—­go to your death!”

Left alone, Harriet sat in the deepening darkness for over three hours, never moving—­still and motionless as if turned to stone.

The pretty Swiss clock played a waltz preparatory to striking eleven.  She sat and listened until the last musical chime died away; then she rose, groped her way to the low, marble chimney-piece, struck a lucifer, and lighted a large lamp.

The brilliant light flooded the room.  Sybilla’s rap came that same instant softly upon the door.

“My lady.”

“I hear,” my lady said, not opening it.  “What is it?”

“All have retired; the house is as still as the grave.  The south door is unfastened; the coast is clear.”

“It is well.  Good-night.”

“Good-night.”

She stood a moment listening to the soft rustle of Miss Silver’s skirts in the passage, then, slowly and mechanically, she began to prepare for her night’s work.

She took a long, shrouding mantle, wrapped it around her, drew the hood over her head, and exchanged her slippers for stout walking shoes.  Then she unlocked her writing-case and drew forth a roll of bank-notes, thrust them into her bosom, and stood ready.