Meanwhile Roma flung herself into the easy-chair before the glowing fire, stretched out her slippered feet on the thick fur rug, and gave herself up to the bitterest reflections. "There are four people who are terribly in my way, and whom I would like to see dead! They are Liane Lester, Granny Jenks, old Doctor Jay, and Edmund Clarke, the man I have heretofore regarded as my father," she muttered vindictively. She knew that the two last named would know neither rest nor peace till they found Liane and reinstated her in her place at Cliffdene as daughter and heiress, ousting without remorse the usurper. "Ah, if I only knew where to find her, granny would soon put her out of my way forever!" she thought, regretting bitterly now that she had not made the old hag keep her informed of her whereabouts. The spirit of murder was rife in Roma's heart, and she longed to end the lives of all those who stood in her way. "I wish that Edmund Clarke would die to-night! How easy it would be if some arsenic were dropped into his sedative--some of that solution I was taking a while ago to improve my complexion," she thought darkly, resolving to wait until all was quiet and herself attempt the hellish deed. One death already lay on her conscience, and the form of the man she had remorselessly thrust over the bluff stalked grimly through her dreams. To her soul, already black with crime, what did the commission of other deeds of darkness matter? The death of Edmund Clarke so quickly decreed, she began to plan that of the old doctor. This was not so easy. He did not have a convenient glass of sedative ready by his bedside. But she had noticed at supper that he was fond of a glass of wine. "I must poison a draught for him before he leaves Cliffdene," she thought, regretting that she could not accomplish it to-night. But Edmund Clarke's speedy death would delay the search for Liane a while, even if it did not postpone it forever. For the old physician was not likely to prosecute it after the death of his patron. He could have no interest in doing so, though she would make sure he did not by putting him out of the way if she could. Her mind a chaos of evil thoughts, Roma rested in her chair, waiting till she thought every one must be asleep before she stole from the room to poison the draught for the man she had regarded until this hour as her own father, and to whose wealth she owed her luxurious life of eighteen years. Neither pity nor gratitude warmed her cold heart. She had never loved him in her life, and she hated him now. In her rage and despair she had forgotten Jesse Devereaux's letter to her father until, in a restless movement, she heard the rustle of paper in her corsage. An evil gleam lightened in her eyes, and she drew the letter forth, muttering: "Ah, this will beguile my weary waiting!" In five minutes she was mistress of the contents.