When alone,--when not exposed to the influence of her tenderness,--he looked on death with perfect composure, and almost wished his course was run, and that the inevitable moment was arrived. The hopes with which she strove to inspire him unsettled and distracted him; and then he reproached himself for such weakness. Yet how collect his thoughts? how temper them down to a tranquil, firm, unmoved acquiescence in his doom, when all his energies would be required for the enterprise which was to restore him to life, to love, and to liberty? He strove to forget the plan in agitation. He tried to abstract himself in prayer; but when most he hoped to have spiritualised his meditations, visions of the future would flash across his mind, painful anticipations of what would be his Winifred's desperation upon the failure of her attempt, agonising shame at the idea of being discovered and caught in the act of evasion, dread of appearing in the undignified position of a reclaimed fugitive, dragged unwillingly to the block, instead of the loyal martyr, boldly, firmly, with an unconstrained step, mounting the scaffold, to consummate the sacrifice he had of his own free will chosen to make. He almost repented the promise he had given; he longed for the repose of hopelessness. CHAPTER XXIII. Methinks my soul is rous'd to her last work, Has much to do, and little time to spare. Dryden. The Countess of Nithsdale had quitted her husband. She wound her solitary way through the dreary purlieus which had become only too familiar to her. She had gained the long-wished-for consent; she had extracted a vow, a solemn vow, from her lord, and she feared not that he would break it: but never did the difficulties of her undertaking appear to her so appalling as at the present moment; the sentries so innumerable, the guards so alert, the way so long, the walls so lofty, the moat so broad! While his consent was to be gained, all else seemed easy, but now the dangers rose up in fearful array before her! But this was not the time to waver. Where could she look for support but to her own unshrinking soul? Amy, she knew, considered her plan impracticable. To no one else had she imparted it. During the short time which intervened before she reached her home, she had recovered her confident reliance on the protection of Providence, and on the strength which that Providence would vouchsafe to her; and with a firm countenance she informed Amy that her lord's consent was obtained, that every difficulty was smoothing itself before her, and that they had but to go on and prosper. "Thank Heaven that my lord has consented," answered Amy; "but, dearest madam, is this, in truth, the only hope now left? Here is a packet which arrived even now from the Duchess of Montrose. Who knows but it may contain good news?" With trembling hands the countess tore it open; but Amy saw with a glance that there was no hope administered by its contents. "No worse news, I trust, madam?"