the left. She listened for a moment, but all was quiet; and she glided in, pale and noiseless as a ghost.
It was Lord Marchmont's chamber, fitted up with all that luxury which marked how precious its master was in his own eyes at least. Within the purple hangings of the bed stood a table, where the night-lamp was already burning; and, also, a draught, carefully labelled.
Lord Marchmont was fond of small complaints, and his physician's ingenuity was often taxed to find a remedy where there was no disease.
Henrietta took the bottle, and swallowed part of the contents; and then filled it up from the phial she held in her hand—that hand never trembled. Again she withdrew, cautiously and quietly as she came; and returned to her own room undisturbed.
She had scarcely reached it before she heard, her husband pass by, on his way to bed. She sprang to the door, and her heart beat loudly: he might yet come in, and relent in
