"My courage is failing," he said to himself: "I must not delay another moment." But he still hesitated for a minute! "No—no!" he exclaimed, as if in answer to an idea which had occupied him during that interval; "there is no hope! My fate would be——the scaffold!" This thought nerved him with courage to execute his desperate purpose. He raised the phial to his lips, and swallowed the contents—greedy of every drop. In a few seconds he fell from his chair—a heavy, lifeless mass—upon the floor of the dungeon. CHAPTER CLXI. LADY CECILIA HARBOROUGH. Cecilia passed a sleepless and agitated night. Wild hopes and undefined fears had banished repose from her pillow. She thought the morning would never come. At length the first gleam of dawn struggled through the windows of her bed-room; and she instantly arose. She was pale—yet fearfully excited; and there was a wildness in her eyes which denoted the most cruel suspense. The minutes seemed to be hours; for she was now anxiously awaiting the arrival of the morning paper. She descended to the breakfast parlour; but the repast remained untouched. At length the well-known knock of the news-boy at the front door echoed through the house. The moment the journal was placed on the table by her side, Cecilia took it up with trembling hands, and cast a hasty glance over its contents. In another instant all suspense relative to the rector's fate ceased. The following words settled that point beyond a doubt:— "SUICIDE OF THE REV. REGINALD TRACY. "Shortly after eight o'clock last evening a rumour was in circulation, to the effect that the above-mentioned individual, whose name has so recently been brought before the public in connection with the murder of Matilda Kenrick, had put a period to his existence by means of poison. It appears that the turnkey, on visiting his cell, according to custom, at eight o'clock, found him stretched upon the floor, to all appearances quite dead. Medical aid was immediately procured; but life was pronounced by the gaol-surgeon to be totally extinct. We have been unable to learn any further particulars." "It is better so, than to die upon the scaffold," said Cecilia to herself. "Now to the lawyer's: Reginald expressly told me that I was to call upon him this morning." The heartless woman did not drop a tear nor heave a sigh to the memory of her paramour. She rang the bell and desired the servant to fetch a cab without delay. By the time it arrived Cecilia was ready. During the rapid drive to the City, she arranged a thousand plans for the employment and enjoyment of the wealth which she believed herself to be now entitled to, and the bequest of which she was resolved to conceal from her husband. When she alighted at the solicitor's door, she assumed a melancholy and solemn air, which she thought decorous under the circumstances.