She thought of quitting the country at once, and proceeding to join her husband, whom she knew to be in Paris. But how would he receive her? The newspapers would soon be busy with her name; and Sir Rupert was not the man to burden himself with a woman penniless in purse and ruined in reputation. For an instant she thought of Greenwood; but this idea was discarded almost as soon as entertained. She was aware of his utter heartlessness, and felt confident that he would repulse her coldly from his dwelling. To whom could she apply? whither was she to betake herself? And yet concealment was necessary—oh! she must hide somewhere! The feelings of this woman were terrible beyond description. And now she was walking rapidly along the streets towards London Bridge; for the idea of quitting the country was uppermost in her mind. Her veil was drawn carefully over her countenance; and yet she trembled at every policeman whom she passed. She was hurrying down Gracechurch Street, when she heard herself called by name. She knew the voice, and turned round, saying to herself, "Help may come from this quarter!" It was the old hag who had spoken to her. "My good woman," said Lady Cecilia hastily, "all is known—all is discovered!" "What is known?" asked the old hag, in her usual imperturbable tone. "It is known that I conveyed the poison, which _you_ procured for me, to Reginald Tracy," replied Cecilia, in a hoarse whisper. "You have heard that he is dead?" "I heard _that_ last evening," said the hag. "What are you going to do?" "To hide myself from the officers of justice," returned Cecilia. "But step into this court, or we shall be observed." The old woman followed the unhappy lady under an archway. "I must conceal myself—at least for the present," resumed Cecilia. "Will you grant me an asylum?" "I! my dear lady!" ejaculated the hag, shaking her head ominously: "I am in danger myself—I am in danger myself! Did I not procure you the poison?" "True. But I would not betray you." "No—we must each shift for ourselves—we must each shift for ourselves, as best we can," replied the hag flatly. "Indeed, I may as well remind you, Lady Cecilia, that your day is gone—you are ruined—and, if you had any spirit, you would not survive it!" "My God! what do you mean?" faltered Cecilia, in a faint tone. "The river is deep, or the Monument is high," answered the hag, in a significant tone; "and you are near both!" The wrinkled old harridan then hobbled out of the court as quickly as her rheumatic limbs would carry her. "Even _she_ deserts me!" murmured Cecilia to herself, and with difficulty suppressing an ebullition of feeling which would have attracted notice, and probably led to her detection: "even _she_ deserts me! My God—is there nothing left to me but suicide? No—nothing!" Her countenance wore, beneath her veil, an expression of blank despair, as she arrived at this appalling conviction; and for some moments she stood as if rooted to the spot.