No trace of anxiety could be discerned on Mrs. Calverley's beautiful countenance as she drove back to Ouselcroft with Laura by her side. On the contrary, she seemed quite elated.

Struck by her want of feeling, the lady's-maid said:

“I am sorry to hear Miss Mildred has been taken ill.”

“Oh, there is nothing much the matter,” rejoined Mrs. Calverley. “She has been slightly indisposed all the morning, and something disagreed with her at luncheon.”

“Glad to hear it, ma'am. I was afraid from what Rose Hartley said, it was a serious attack.”

“Oh, no,” replied Mrs. Calverley. “She thought so little of it herself, that she wouldn't let me send for Doctor Spencer. I shall drive over again to-morrow, and trust to find her quite recovered.”

“I should think a little eau-de-luce would do her good, ma'am?” remarked Laura.

“Why do you think so?” asked Mrs. Calverley > startled.

“She seems to have had such a sudden seizure, like yourself, ma'am.”

“Mine was merely a violent headache, Laura, accompanied by faintness. Ah!” she exclaimed, in real alarm, after vainly searching for it in her bag. “What did I do with my handkerchief? I hope I haven't left it behind!”

“No; it's here, ma'am,” replied Laura, giving it her. “You had laid it on the seat.”

“Oh! thank you, Laura,” cried Mrs. Oalverley, looking inexpressibly relieved.

And squeezing the handkerchief to make sure the phial was safe inside it, she put it into her bag.

“I wonder why she was so agitated just now?” thought Laura.

All signs of exultation had now vanished from Mrs. Calverley's countenance, and she looked thoughtful and uneasy during the rest of the drive, and scarcely made a remark to Laura, who could not account for the sudden and extraordinary change in her mood.

On arriving at Ouselcroft, she went upstairs almost immediately to her own room, but, contrary to custom, and greatly to the surprise of the lady's-maid, did not take her with her.

This time, on going into her dressing-room, she did not neglect to lock both doors.

Feeling now safe from intrusion, she sat down to reflect. But there was such a turmoil in her breast, such confusion in her brain, that she found it impossible to do so calmly.

The fancied loss of her handkerchief, with the phial inside it, which, if it had really occurred, must have inevitably led to the discovery of the terrible crime she had committed, had completely unnerved her.

All was now quiet, but when the dreadful catastrophe occurred, suspicion would be instantly aroused, and the slightest circumstance that bore upon the dark deed would be weighed and examined.

The will, which had been prepared by Carteret, and which, she could not doubt, had been read by Norris, supplied the motive of the crime; inasmuch as it showed that her step-daughter's death would be extraordinarily advantageous to herself—so advantageous, indeed, as almost to suggest Mildred's removal.

Evidence sufficient to condemn her could be furnished by Laura, whose strange curiosity had enabled her to become a fatal witness against her.

When she clearly understood the frightful position in which she was placed, her terror increased, and she would have given all she possessed, and all she hoped to gain, if the deed could be undone.

So agonising were her remorseful feelings, that life had become intolerable; she resolved to put an end to it, and by the same means she had employed to remove Mildred. She had not yet put by the phial, though she had come thither for the express purpose of doing so. With a terrible feeling of exultation at the thought of escaping the consequences of her last crime, and of another crime equally dreadful that still weighed upon her conscience, she raised the phial to her lips, with the intention of swallowing the whole of its deadly contents.

But her fatal purpose was arrested by a tap at the bedroom door.

For a few moments, she could scarcely collect her thoughts, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse.

“Who is it?” she demanded.

“Laura,” replied the person in the bedroom. “May I come in?”

“No,” rejoined the wretched Teresa.

“I have only come to tell you that Mr. Chetwynd has just arrived with two young men,” said Laura.

The mention of that name produced an instantaneous effect on Mrs. Calverley, and dispelled her fears.

Even if he had come to charge her with her crime, she would have met him and defied him.

“Tell Mr. Chetwynd I will come down directly,” she said in a firm voice. “Who are the persons with him? Do you know them?”

“They are two young men whom I saw at Lady Thicknesse's, ma'am—Mr. Harry Netterville and Mr. Tom Tankard. I don't know what business they've come about, but I fancy it relates to Rose Hartley—Miss Barfleur's lady's-maid.”

Completely reassured by this remark, Mrs. Calverley told Laura to go down at once, and desire Norris to offer the young men some refreshment; and as soon as she found that the inquisitive lady's-maid had departed, she unlocked the dressing-box, replaced the phial in the casket, and then, having made all secure, went down-stairs.