“The time is near, Miss Lockwood, when you will discover that for yourself. In the mean while, you shall know what my fear of you is, in the plainest words I can find. On the day when I took your hero from you and blighted your life—I am firmly persuaded of it!—you were made the instrument of the retribution that my sins of many years had deserved. Oh, such things have happened before to-day! One person has, before now, been the means of innocently ripening the growth of evil in another. You have done that already—and you have more to do yet. You have still to bring me to the day of discovery, and to the punishment that is my doom. We shall meet again—here in England, or there in Venice where my husband died—and meet for the last time.” In spite of her better sense, in spite of her natural superiority to superstitions of all kinds, Agnes was impressed by the terrible earnestness with which those words were spoken. She turned pale as she looked at Henry. “Do _you_ understand her?” she asked. “Nothing is easier than to understand her,” he replied contemptuously. “She knows what has become of Ferrari; and she is confusing you in a cloud of nonsense, because she daren’t own the truth. Let her go!” If a dog had been under one of the chairs, and had barked, Lady Montbarry could not have proceeded more impenetrably with the last words she had to say to Agnes. “Advise your interesting Mrs. Ferrari to wait a little longer,” she said. “_You_ will know what has become of her husband, and you will tell her. There will be nothing to alarm you. Some trifling event will bring us together the next time—as trifling, I dare say, as the engagement of Ferrari. Sad nonsense, Mr. Westwick, is it not? But you make allowances for women; we all talk nonsense. Good morning, Miss Lockwood.” She opened the door—suddenly, as if she was afraid of being called back for the second time—and left them. CHAPTER XII “Do you think she is mad?” Agnes asked. “I think she is simply wicked. False, superstitious, inveterately cruel—but not mad. I believe her main motive in coming here was to enjoy the luxury of frightening you.” “She _has_ frightened me. I am ashamed to own it—but so it is.” Henry looked at her, hesitated for a moment, and seated himself on the sofa by her side.