"You are safe at last, my darling," he answers, solemnly, and glancing behind him with a slight shudder. "A terrible retribution has overtaken your enemies." "I know," she answers, shuddering. "Is it not fearful, Philip? But oh, tell me," she continues, pleadingly, "am I responsible for the terrible ending of these selfish lives?" "No, Vera. They were wicked people whose sins wrought out their own retribution. No blame can attach to you, darling," he answers, decisively. "Do you really know this lady, sir?" inquires poor Betsy Robson, touching him timidly on the arm. "Yes," he answers, looking round at her. "She is the Countess of Fairvale, my betrothed wife, whom Leslie Noble abducted from her home." "Oh, me, and I thought she was Mr. Noble's crazy wife. _He_ said so," cries Mrs. Robson, dissolved in penitent tears. "Oh, my lady, can you ever forgive me for not listening to your true story?" "Freely, my poor creature, since you were always kind to me," Lady Vera answers, moved to greatest compassion by the woman's humble penitence. Then, with something of a shudder, Lady Vera turns back to her lover. "It seems a dreadful thing to do, but you must search Mr. Noble's person," she says. "He had the stolen memorandum-book." "My lady, I have already taken the liberty of doing as you suggest," Mr. Sharpe answers, respectfully, advancing with the gold-clasped book in his hand. She takes it from him with a subdued cry of joy. "And now, Vera, when will you feel able to leave this dreadful place?" inquires Colonel Lockhart. "To-morrow," she answers, promptly. "Then we will start for London in the morning. How glad Sir Harry and Nella will be," he exclaims. "And now, Sharpe, we will, with this good woman's assistance, make some arrangement for removing Lady Vera from this scene of horror into another chamber." "There's only the kitchen," Mrs. Robson said, dismayed at her lack of resources. "All the chambers but this are leaky and damp. But the kitchen where I cook and sleep is warm and dry." "The kitchen will suit me excellently well; anywhere but this," Lady Vera answers, shuddering. "You must bring poor Ivy, too," she adds, with a compassionate glance at the poor, insane creature. The maniac went willingly enough, satisfied to go anywhere so long as she was not parted from her beloved jewels, and the warm, clean kitchen was felt by all to be a safe haven of refuge from the inclement night and the horror-haunted chamber up-stairs. The remainder of the night was spent in a wakeful vigil. The next morning the gentlemen made hurried preparations for the inquest that was necessary to be held over the dead. It was found that Mrs. Cleveland had come to her death by a stroke of lightning, and that Leslie Noble had been murdered by Ivy Cleveland. But human vengeance was powerless to touch poor Ivy. The hand of God had already smitten her. A lunatic asylum received her for the remainder of her poor, wrecked life. CHAPTER XLVII.