"All as we could wish, all as we could wish!" cried Rochester, entering a room in Northampton House, in which the Countess of Essex sat with her mother, Lady Suffolk. "We have the great majority of the judges, delegates. In a few days the decree of nullity will be pronounced, and we need not care a pin for that rank puritan, Abbot, or the Bishop of London. They are the only two who hold out, for Ely and Coventry have yielded to the King's arguments."

Lady Essex cast herself into his arms, with her face radiant with joy; and the shameless Countess of Suffolk rose and congratulated the lover of her criminal daughter, with as many expressions of satisfaction as if he were about to raise her to a station of honour and fame.

"Get them to sign the decree quickly, Rochester," she said; "Abbott is a powerful man, and the see of Canterbury has no light authority. He may bring some of the rest over again; and it is as well to have as many on our side as possible."

"There is no fear, there is no fear," replied Rochester. "They have pledged themselves to the King, and cannot go back. Nevertheless, be you assured, dear lady, I will lose no time. What I most fear is from that villain, Overbury. He has written me this day a most insolent and threatening letter; and he may make mischief."

"I wonder," said Lady Suffolk, in a jesting tone, "if there be no butts of Malmsey now in that same Tower of London? But come, I will go and tell Northampton of your good news. He is as eager in the business as any of us."

"Not as I am," answered Rochester, casting himself into a seat by the side of his paramour. "There I defy him."

"But what says your dear good friend, Sir Thomas Overbury?" asked Lady Essex. "My mother is right, Rochester: we want Malmsey butt!"

"It were not safe," answered her lover, looking down; "the man may drive me to punish him as he deserves; but how, is the question?"

"Oh, by a thousand means," answered the Countess.

"But what does he say, what does he say, Robert? let me see. Have you got the letter with you?"

"Yes, here it is," answered Rochester; "a sweet composition, in truth, and one which shows that he and I are henceforth sworn enemies. One or the other must perish, that is clear."

"Let it be him, sweet Rochester, let it be him," said the Countess, taking the letter, and running her eye over the contents.

"What says the villain?" she exclaimed, at length, with her face burning as she read aloud some portions of Overbury's letter. "--'You and I will come to public trial before all the friends I have?--They shall know what words have passed betwixt us heretofore?--I have wrote the story betwixt you and me from the first hour to this day!'--Rochester, there is no time to be lost! He brings it on his own head.--Let him take the consequences."

"But how? but how?" cried Rochester.

"How?" asked the Countess. "Is he not in the Tower?--Is not my father Lord High Chamberlain?--Are you not a Privy Councillor?--Will the King refuse you anything you ask in reason?--Rochester, Rochester! means are not difficult if you will be firm. But place a secure man as Lieutenant of the Tower, and leave the rest to me. What! would you have yourself overthrown by a worm--by a viper?--Will you leave a snake to sting you, when, by one stroke of your heel, you can tread it into nothing? You have done all you have done, more than could be expected, to avoid the necessity he forces on you. You offered him rank, station, and high employment! He refused them all, and his own obstinacy sent him to the Tower. Now he would charge and calumniate you, knowing right well, that slander always leaves part of its venom behind, whatever antidote we apply. He gives you no choice, he forces you to declare that he or you must perish."

"It is but too true," replied Rochester, gazing on the ground somewhat gloomily; "and yet I would to Heaven he did not force me to deal with him harshly."

"Ay, but he does," exclaimed the Countess. "Tell me, if two men are in a sinking boat that will but bear one, has not the strongest every right to cast the other into the sea, and save himself?"

She paused for an answer, and her lover replied, "I think he has; but still he may regret to do it."

"True," said Lady Essex, "true; and so do I, and so do you. But if that man were an enemy, who had brought him there only to take his life? He who weakly stands in fear of a man he can destroy, deserves the fate that he spares the other. Had he been content to bear, even for some short time, with meekness and forbearance, the punishment he has called down on his own head, he might have lived on in peace, for aught you would have said or I have done against him. But now, Rochester," she added, laying her fair and beautiful hand upon his arm, and speaking in a low but emphatic tone, "but now, he must die! Do you mark me?--He must die! It is not hate that makes me speak; we could have afforded to hate him, and yet let him live. I practise nought against the life of Essex, though Heaven knows I have hated him enough. But to dread is different--to live in continual fear of what a fellow being may say--to know that our secrets are at the mercy of an enemy--to see him strive to curb us at his will, like a groom upon a managed horse, because he has got the bridle of fear between our jaws, is not an existence to be tolerated for an hour. Fling me, I say, such a rider to the dust and break his neck, or you are not half a man. This letter, this base and insolent letter, is his death-warrant!" And she struck it with the back of her fingers, with all the passion and vehemence of her nature. "He has signed it with his own hand," she added. "It is his own deed! and as he has planted the tree, so let him eat the fruit."

"But the means! but the means!" cried Rochester. "Where shall we find the means?--Remember, such deeds leave marks behind them that may condemn us. Cold judges will not weigh the provocation, but only the act; will not think of how he drove us to destroy him, but punish us for his destruction. The King himself will suffer no private revenge; remember the case of Sanquhar, where no prayers or entreaties would move him."

"Ay, but remember, also," said the Countess, "that he was hated--you are loved. James smiled when he signed Sanquhar's warrant. Know you not why he looked so pleased? Was not Sanquhar a friend of that famous King of France, who so eclipsed the pale light of the Scottish Star, that he looked like Orion beside one of the little twinkling Pleiades? Did not Sanquhar stand by, unmoved by aught but laughter, when Henry vented a keen jest upon the birth of this British Solomon; and James paid him well. Him he detested; you he adores.--Who does not that knows you, Rochester?--And if this be so managed that no mighty hubbub is made about it, I will undertake the King shall aid you to conceal it, rather than punish you for an act most necessary. Besides, if I judge right, there may be things within the scope of your knowledge that this great monarch would not have told. I counsel you not to make him dread you; for that is too perilous. Show him all devotion, and there is no fear of his becoming an enemy to one who is so much his friend. Then, as for the rest, lend me your power, and I will give you the means. I will away, with all speed, to a certain serviceable woman whom I know, who will afford me good counsel as to what is to be done. But I must put off this gay apparel; and if you will be here to supper, I will have news for you. Hark! I hear my mother coming, with my good Lord Northampton. He shall lend me his barge; and I will away."

"Let me go with you," said Rochester.

"What, in these fine feathers?" cried the Countess, laughing as lightly as if her errand were but some pleasant scheme of momentary diversion. "No, no, most noble Lord, that would betray all. Another time you shall. Fair sir," she continued, turning to the Earl of Northampton, as he entered, "I beseech you, as your poor kinswoman and dependant, to lend me your lordship's barge for a short time. I have a secret expedition to the city, to visit a certain goldsmith, who must not know me, lest he charge his workmanship too dear. You will not deny me?"

She spoke in a gay and mocking tone, calculated to discover rather than to conceal the fact, that she had some more important scheme to execute than that which she gave out; and the Earl of Northampton replied at once: "It, as all else that I possess, fair lady, is at your devotion. Stay; I must order it."

"Nay, nay," said the Countess, "I will do so as I pass through the ante-room. Show him the letter, Rochester, and ask him simply what that man deserves who wrote it."

Thus saying, she left the room, and Rochester placed the letter of Sir Thomas Overbury in the hands of the Lord Northampton, who had by this time become his chief friend and adviser at the Court. The Earl read it twice, and then returning it, said, in a marked tone, "Death!--A man," he added, "who can betray the secrets confided to him is the worst sort of traitor; but he who can use them to intimidate another, is lower than the common cut-purse upon the highway. Were this man out of prison, I should say--call him into some quiet corner of the Park, and draw your sword. As it is, I cannot so well advise you."

The Countess of Suffolk made Rochester a sign not to continue the subject; and in; a few minutes more Lady Essex re-appeared, masked, and habited with great simplicity.

"Now," she exclaimed, addressing Rochester, "you may have the honour of handing me to the barge, or, if you like it better, may accompany me till I land near the bridge, and wait for me, like a humble slave, till I re-embark; for I will have no pert lover prying into where I go."

Thus saying, she gave him her hand, and the Earl of Northampton, smiling as benignly on their criminal attachment as the Countess of Suffolk had done, conducted them to a door leading into the gardens, where he left them to pursue their way to the private stairs, which were then attached to all the great houses that lined the bank of the Thames, from Whitehall to the City.

Rochester and the Countess proceeded through the gardens, toying and jesting as they went, and then seated themselves in the barge, which speedily bore them down nearly to London Bridge. There the lady left her lover, and, followed by two men, entered upon the narrow streets of the metropolis, which she threaded till she reached the well-known house of Mrs. Turner. She paused in the little court, and sent up one of the men to see if the respectable lady she came to visit was at home, and alone.

"Say, a lady wishes to see her," said the Countess. "Mind, sirrah, give no names--merely a lady."

"I know, my Lady," replied the man, who had accompanied his mistress more than once upon a similar errand; and entering the door, which stood open, he soon came back with tidings that good Mrs. Turner was within, and disengaged.

"Bless me, my Lady!" exclaimed Mrs. Turner, as soon as she saw the Countess, "I have not had the honour of a visit for I don't know how long; but I see that all has gone well with you. You could not look so fresh and so beautiful if you were not happy; though beautiful enough you were always, even, when you were in the state of misery from which I had some little share in relieving you."

"Thanks, thanks, Mrs. Turner," replied the Countess, "the relief is not quite complete; but I think it will be soon. However, I have another business on hand, perhaps more important still. See that there is no one in that room, and lock the door."

"Oh, there is no one, I am sure, my Lady," said Mrs. Turner. "I take good care against eaves-droppers; but you shall see." And opening the door, which led to an inner chamber, she displayed a bedroom fitted up in a style of luxury which would have shamed a palace.

She then locked a door which led from it to a back staircase; and tripping back on the tips of her toes, she sat down opposite to Lady Essex, saying, "Now, sweet lady, you see there is no one there; and, if there be anything in all the world that I can do to serve you, I am ready. I am sure, it is quite a pleasure to do anything for so great and generous a person."

"That is all nonsense, Turner," replied the Countess; "what I have to do now, cannot be a pleasure to any one concerned; but it is forced upon me. Tell me, you who have such skilful means of gratifying hearts that love, have you not means of satisfying hate, as well?"

"Really, my lady, I don't know what you mean," said Mrs. Turner. "You must speak clearly; and I will give you a clear answer."

"Pshaw," cried the Countess, impatiently; "half of your trade, woman, is to understand at a mere hint. Tell me, if you had an enemy, one that you dreaded, one that rendered it necessary for your safety that he should be removed, could you not find means--without much apparent dealing with him--to free yourself from your danger, and from his enmity?"

Mrs. Turner gazed silently in her face, for a moment, and then, in a voice sunk to a whisper, asked, "Is it my lord your husband?"

"He!" cried the Countess, with a scoff. "But I have no husband," she added, the moment after; "if you mean the Earl of Essex, poor creature, my hate ceased as soon as he ceased to trouble me. The idle bond between us will be soon snapped by the fingers of law; and henceforward I care no more about him than about any of the thousands who walk the streets of London, and whom I have never seen. No, no, it is another, a much less person; for you might fear to put your fingers in the peerage. But answer me my question. Were such your case, could you not find means, I say?"

"Perhaps I could, my Lady," answered Mrs. Turner, in a grave tone. "Perhaps I could."

"Then you must make my hatred yours," replied the Countess, "and work against my enemies as if they were your own."

"That I will, madam, I am sure, with all my heart," answered her worthy confederate. "But I must have help, my lady."

"You shall have such assistance as shall render all easy," replied the Countess.

"Ay," rejoined Mrs. Turner; "but what I mean is, I cannot undertake this thing alone. Good Doctor Foreman must give us assistance. I doubt you would not like bloodshed?"

"No, no, no!" answered the Countess; "there must be no blood; nothing to leave a trace of how the person died. Quietly and secretly, and yet as speedily as may be."

"It will be difficult, madam," said Mrs. Turner; "a very difficult thing indeed; for though one may get at their food so as to spice one dish to their taste for ever, yet if it is to be slow poison----"

The Countess started, and her warm cheek turned somewhat pale. "Is your Ladyship ill?" asked Mrs. Turner.

"No, no!" answered the Countess; "'twas the word poison. Often," she added, slowly and thoughtfully, "we must make use of means we like not to hear named, and the heart shrinks at a word that is most bold in action. But it matters not;--poison--ay, poison!--So let it be!--Why should the sound scare me?--Poison. Well, woman, what was it thou wert saying?"

"Why, please you, my Lady, that if slow poison is to be used, we must bribe some man who has constant access to the person, for it must be given daily."

"None shall have access but yourself and those you send," replied the Countess. "All food may pass through your hands--and yet I wish this were not to be done. Would that it could be accomplished boldly and openly, without such silent, secret dealings; but that is impossible in this case."

"Oh dear, my Lady!" replied Mrs. Turner, in a soothing tone,--"you need not distress yourself about it. You do not know how frequently such things happen."

"Ay? Is it often done?" exclaimed the Countess.

"Daily, madam," said Mrs. Turner. "Many a rich old miser finds the way to heaven by the tender love his heir bears to his money bags; many a jealous husband troubles his lady's peace no more, after she has learnt the secret of deliverance; many a wise man's secrets find a quiet deposit in the churchyard, which otherwise might have been noised abroad; many a poor girl, betrayed and wearied of, finds peace, by the same hand that took it from her. But that's a shame, I say, and such means should be only used against the strong and the dangerous."

The Countess smiled bitterly. "Yes!" she said, looking down, "there are gradations even in such things as these; and dire necessity still justifies the act that else were criminal. And so 'tis often done, good Mrs. Turner? I have heard of it, but knew not it was frequent."

"Oh yes, my Lady," answered the fiend; "scarce a day--I am sure not a week passes, without a stone being put up by mourning friends in memory of those whom they would fain forget; and once the earth is shovelled in, you know, it matters little how the dead man went. In truth, to most men, 'tis a charity to cut them off from a few years of sorrow. 'Tis a sad world, full of cares, my Lady; and I know that too, poor creature as I am. Here they are pressing me hard for the rent of my house; and where I am to get it I am sure I cannot tell."

"There!" said the Countess, throwing a purse upon the table; "and if you skilfully accomplish that which is needed, you shall be rich."

The woman seized her hand to kiss it; but the Countess drew it away, as if a serpent stung her. "Come, no foolery," she said. "You know I pay well for services; but they must be rendered duly. I have told you that this person shall be entirely in your power. You shall have every opportunity to practise on him your skill. He shall be altogether in your hands. Is there anything more you need?"

"Ha, ha, ha!" said Mrs. Turner, laughing with a low titter. "I thought first it was a woman, till your ladyship said he: for ladies have not, in general, such enmities to men."

"My friendships are the friendships of my friends," cried the Countess; "their hate my hate. 'Tis not that this man has injured me, but he is dangerous to one I love. He must die! See you to the means. I have heard that the late Queen Catherine, of France, was so well served in cases such as these, that those whom she dreaded or disliked, disappeared as if by magic. The smelling of a nosegay--a pair of scented gloves--a cup of fragrant wine--would clear her Court in a few hours of those who cumbered it."

"All tales! my Lady," replied Mrs. Turner; "except, perhaps, the wine. I doubt not that she did deliver herself of enemies by such means, and those the best, too, she could employ; but odours to kill, must be strong scents, indeed; and, 'tis more like, some friendly valet helped to season the soup of the good Monseigneur, than that he took the poison by the nose. However, there is one thing I can say, that there is no secret in the sciences with which my friend, good Doctor Foreman, is unfurnished; and, moreover, that he will employ them all to please your ladyship."

"Well, consult him, then," said Lady Essex; "let him know that his reward is sure. Think you he has ever practised in this sort before?"

"I must not say that, my Lady," replied Mrs. Turner, with a shrewd look; "but I know well, that in this country, and in many others, too, he has served great men in various ways. Ay, kings and princes; and, I suspect, their foes have had cause to know it, too. But he is as secret as the grave, and never babbles of the things he has done."

"That is the man we want," said the Countess; "speak to him about the matter, and let me know what he says."

"That I will, my Lady," answered Mrs. Turner. "But who is the gentleman we have to deal with?"

"You shall know hereafter," replied Lady Essex: "what I have said, is sufficient for the present."

"Nay, but dear lady," urged her infamous confederate, "I fear Dr. Foreman may not like to engage in the matter without knowing who the person is. I have no curiosity, for my part."

"Why should he hesitate?" demanded the Countess, sharply; "one man must, to him, be the same as another, if what you have said of him be true. The butcher asks not where the ox he slays was bred or fattened, what green meadows fed it, from what streams it drank. The blow that ends it is all he has to think of; and so let it be here."

"I doubt that will not satisfy him, my Lady," said Mrs. Turner; "there are some great men he might not like to deal with--any of his kind friends and patrons, would give him pain to injure. Perhaps this very gentleman may have been favourable to him--may have employed him in things of the same kind."

"'Tis not unlikely," answered the Countess, with a gloomy smile; "but, if he have, he will employ him no farther. The walls of a prison are round him, from which he will ne'er pass out alive. However, as your friend cannot penetrate into the Tower, to tell the secret to him who must die; and as he dare not, I think, betray it to any other, the man is Sir Thomas Overbury;" and she fixed her beautiful eyes steadfastly upon the countenance of Mrs. Turner, as if to read the effect which her words produced upon the woman's mind.

It was not such as she expected; for the passion in her own heart gave even her victim higher importance than he had possessed in the eyes of others. "What! Sir Thomas Overbury!" exclaimed Mrs. Turner, in some surprise; "the friend of my Lord of Rochester?"

"He was his friend," replied the Countess, with marked emphasis; "but now----"

She left the sentence unconcluded, and Mrs. Turner exclaimed, "Ah! I see how it is; I understand it all, now! Such friends may become dangerous, Lady. He may have secrets of my Lord of Rochester's, which must not be betrayed; perhaps, some of the King's, too."

"Perhaps so," answered the Countess; "all we know, however, is, that he lies a close prisoner in the Tower, by the King's own order; that no man--except such as have licence from his Majesty himself--is permitted to speak with him, on pain of high displeasure; and that it were better for all parties that such things were brought to an end. See to it, good Mrs. Turner, see to it! and come up to me at Northampton House to-night at supper time. The Earl will then be in the country; and you will find Lord Rochester and myself alone. If you have seen this Doctor Foreman, then, you may bring him with you; and so, farewell!"

Thus saying, the Countess left her, hurried to the barge, and seating herself by her lover's side, was rowed back to Northampton House. But, as she went, she vainly endeavoured to assume the light gaiety which she had displayed as they came; for the terrible conversation which she had just held with her instrument still cast its shadow upon her. While the act was merely a matter of vague contemplation, she had felt it but little; but, as with those who approach to climb a mountain, which at a distance looked soft and easy of ascent, she found the task more fearful than she had anticipated when she came to deal with the details. Even her bold and resolute spirit felt oppressed with the first steps to the terrible crime that was to be committed; the very lowness and pettiness of the means to be employed had something strangely horrible to her imagination which, she could not shake off. She sat silent and gloomy then as the boat glided over the water; and Rochester easily divined that preparations were already made for the dark act they meditated.