Yes, yes, interrupted the Marquis; but--he paused. But they have given you too much trouble in the pursuit, said La Motte; and to be sure, my Lord, it must be confessed they have; but this trouble is all over--you may now consider her as your own. I would do so, said the Marquis, fixing an eye of earnest regard upon La Motte--I would do so. Name your hour, my Lord; you shall not be interrupted. Beauty such as Adeline's-- Watch her closely, interrupted the Marquis, and on no account suffer her to leave her apartment. Where is she now? Confined in her chamber. Very well. But I am impatient. Name your time, my Lord--to-morrow night. _To-morrow_ night, said the Marquis, to-morrow night. Do you understand me now? Yes, my Lord, this night if you wish it so. But had you not better dismiss your servants, and remain yourself in the forest? You know the door that opens upon the woods from the west tower. Come thither about twelve--I will be there to conduct you to her chamber. Remember then, my Lord, that to-night-- Adeline dies! interrupted the Marquis in a low voice scarcely human. Do you understand me now? ----La Motte shrunk aghast--My Lord! La Motte! said the Marquis.--There was a silence of several minutes, in which La Motte endeavoured to recover himself. Let me ask, my Lord, the meaning of this? said he, when he had breath to speak. Why should you wish the death of Adeline--of Adeline, whom so lately you loved? Make no inquiries for my motive, said the Marquis; but it is as certain as that I live that she you name must die. This is sufficient. The surprise of La Motte equalled his horror. The means are various, resumed the Marquis. I could have wished that no blood might be spilt; and there are drugs sure and speedy in their effect, but they cannot be soon or safely procured. I also wish it over--it must be done quickly--this night. This night, my Lord! Aye, this night, La Motte; if it is to be, why not soon? Have you no convenient drug at hand? None, my Lord. I feared to trust a third person, or I should have been provided, said the Marquis. As it is, take this poniard! use it as occasion offers, but be resolute. La Motte received the poniard with a trembling hand, and continued to gaze upon it for some time, scarcely knowing what he did. Put it up, said the Marquis, and endeavour to recollect yourself. La Motte obeyed, but continued to muse in silence. He saw himself entangled in the web which his own crimes had woven. Being in the power of the Marquis, he knew he must either consent to the commission of a deed, from the enormity of which, depraved as he was, he shrunk in horror, or sacrifice fortune, freedom, probably life itself, to the refusal. He had been led on by slow gradations from folly to vice, till he now saw before him an abyss of guilt which startled even the conscience that so long had slumbered. The means of retreating were desperate--to proceed was equally so.