As she stepped into the close dun light of the shrouded room she came to a stop with a great start. The heavy-curtained bed was empty. The clothes were flung back and the spaniel slept on the coverlet; an open novel lay on the pillow; garments, dead flowers, masks, fans, boxes, books and prints lay scattered over the chairs and floor. The Countess was not in the chamber. "My lady," cried Honoria softly, "my lady!" She crossed the room quickly and entered the apartment beyond it, her mistress's private withdrawing-room. The blue brocaded satin curtains were drawn close and the white rose-wreathed walls showed cold and luminous in the confined light. "My lady!" cried Honoria again. At a little Chinese cabinet in the corner, set open and covered with a confusion of papers and rich articles of gold and jewels, sat the Countess, resting her head in her hands. She wore again the muslin dress, red mantle, and straw hat of last night. Her clothes were wet, clinging to her, and stained with mud. Her hair hung uncurled and unpowdered on to her shoulders; her face was drawn and of an unhealthy pallid colour. At her elbow stood a lit candle, and on the carpet by the chair was a little pile of burnt paper. She did not move at her maid's entry, and Honoria spoke again. "Have you been out, my lady?" The Countess Lavinia turned her head. "Did you think I was asleep?" she asked in a weary voice. Honoria crossed to her side. "You are wet to the skin. Do you wish to kill yourself?" "I do not feel it," answered the Countess, but she was shivering. "I have been to the Park, Honoria." She put the candle out and leant back in her chair. "To the duel?" "Yes." Her voice had a vague far-off sound. "I crept downstairs last night after you had left me, and unloaded his pistols, thinking he would have to fight without a second." "You did that!" quivered Honoria. The Countess turned wide glazed eyes on her. She did not seem to know to whom she spoke. "And then I followed to see him shot." She coughed, laughed, and sat up. "My God!" said Honoria, staring at her mistress. The Countess thrust her fingers through her damp hair. "Marius was there, that is why I am speaking of it. You can tell them afterwards." "I do not understand," cried the maid. "Are you sane, my lady?" "I want to say this," smiled the Countess, holding her head. "It becomes so difficult to say anything. Sir Francis fired into the air. Why are men such fools? I went to see _him_ shot!" "You accuse yourself of murder," said Honoria. "When my lord's pistol clicked uselessly," continued my lady, "they thought it was Marius's doing--at least, my lord did. No one saw me. I was standing at the top of a little rise among the bushes. How it had rained! Now was my revenge, I thought. But useless, useless! And they must know." "Ye are mad!" muttered Honoria.