"I wonder if I care about him still?" she said suddenly. "I wonder? I would like to do him a hurt. Then I should know--yes, when I had done him a mischief, I should know what my feeling for him is. And as for my lord--" She paused, then added, passionately, "I think I should like vengeance on my lord." "You may have that and all other things," answered Honoria. "But take your part now, and carry it through. Let him see he has not married a puppet. But be easy, courteous." "Is there anyone he cares for?" demanded the Countess broodingly. "Something might be done that way. Which of them do you think of, Honoria? He fought a duel for Mrs. Armstrong last year----" "I know not," answered Honoria. "But one might discover. He was spoken of with Miss Boyle at the Wells. You remember I found the paragraphs in the papers last season, and I think, as I have always told you, my lady, that he has a great regard for her." "I know--I know," answered the Countess wearily. "He must be a fine lover, my lord! Well, we will see!" She shivered. "They have had everything from me, but maybe I can make them pay!" "It is clouding over," said Honoria, "and we had best return. Now school yourself, my lady." "I can act well enough," replied the Countess fiercely, "an I be so minded." Her passion had not spent itself, but gathered cruelly in her heart, expelling peace and ease. She was calm because her body was weary, but surging malice rioted in her soul. "There must be letters, meetings," said the Countess Lavinia, below her catching breath. "It were ill if you and I could not compass some knowledge which we could turn into weapons as sharp as those with which he to-night struck me--ay, and Marius Lyndwood, too--there must be means. Marius Lyndwood!" She repeated the name with a curious accent, as if, despite herself, she dwelt upon the words. She put her fingers to her hot mouth and stared at the night clouds behind the house. "We must hasten home, Honoria!" she cried, catching the girl by the arm. "Home!" "'Twill all be well, my lady," whispered the maid. "They have had their turn. Yours comes." As they reached the steps a soft warm rain began to fall, and the moon was entirely obscured. "Who is this?" asked the Countess, stopping. The door opened; a glow of intimate yellow light was diffused over the jasmine and roses, and a woman's figure showed. "Miss Chressham!" breathed Honoria, and slipped behind her mistress. The Countess gave a quick catch of her breath and clenched her hands. "Is that you, my lady?" The voice of Susannah Chressham came cold and pure. "It is I," answered Mr. Hilton's daughter, "and I am coming home." The last word was stressed with an accent of insult. The speaker came rapidly up the steps, and faced Miss Chressham in the light of the hall lamp. "Come in," said Susannah, with pallid lips; "I think it is raining. I was going to look for you." The Countess Lavinia passed into the house, after her the maid, discreetly.