Geraldine did not care for the wine, and she was not at all chilly, but she drank a little from the cup, just to escape the woman's importunities. Then she laid her fair head down to rest, and in a very few moments was soundly asleep; and no wonder, for the wine she had drank had contained enough opium to keep her in a stupor for many hours. Not till she was sound asleep did the woman go out, and then she stole like a shadow of evil omen through the darkened house, where she undid all the door fastenings, that Clifford Standish might have no difficulty in entering. Returning to Geraldine's room, she cautiously dressed the sleeping girl in warm, thick shoes and stockings, and a thick blanket-wrapper, placing close at hand a heavy cloak and hood, evidently making her ready for a mysterious journey. In the dressing-room beyond, she had already packed a hand-bag with clothing, which she now brought in and placed near the door. While she was dressing her, Geraldine had stirred and moaned several times, but the influence of the drug held her senses bound too fast for her to awake; so Miss Erroll had everything ready, and was crouched in a chair waiting, when there came a low, soft scratching at the door, the signal agreed on between them. She started, growing pale as ashes, her heart sinking in her breast. She had been hoping and praying that he would not come. Stealing to the door, she admitted Standish, who was not a very pleasant object to see in his black crape mask. Not a word passed between them, but she silently wrapped Geraldine in the cloak and hood ready for her journey. The daring actor lifted the girl as though she had been a little child, and taking the hand-bag also, stole from the house undetected, and made his way to a sleigh that was in waiting around the nearest corner. Then Miss Erroll, shivering like one in an ague fit, proceeded to finish her work. She locked the door, and re-made the dainty bed, so that it had the appearance of not having been slept in that night. Upon the pillow she pinned the note that she had written in Geraldine's hand, and to which she had signed Geraldine's name. And, lastly, and just before leaving the room, she sank on her knees, and prayed with dramatic fervor: "Oh, God, if Thou wilt hear the prayer of a wretch like me, I implore that Thou wilt watch over and protect from harm the poor girl whom I have betrayed into that wretch's hands!" When the hue and cry arose the next morning over Geraldine's disappearance, she was as much excited as any, and her grief was as noisy as that of the others. She was indeed grieved and remorseful over her evil deed, and she had only one comfort to offer herself: "Self-preservation is the first law of nature."