s superb; and she had the whitest
neck and arms imaginable, and the smallest and most delicately-formed
hands. Her features derived something of haughtiness from a slightly
aquiline nose and a short curled upper lip. Her eyes were
magnificent--large, dark, and almost Oriental in shape and splendour.
Jetty brows, and thick, lustrous, raven hair, completed the catalogue of
her charms. Her dress was of white brocade, over which she wore a loose
robe of violet-coloured velvet, with open hanging sleeves, well
calculated to display the polished beauty of her arms. Her ruff was of
point lace, and round her throat she wore a carcanet of pearls, while
other precious stones glistened in her dusky tresses.

This beautiful dame, whose proud lips were now more compressed than
usual, and whose dark eyes emitted fierce rays--very different from
their customary tender and voluptuous glances--was the Countess of
Exeter. He whom she looked upon was Lord Roos, and the chamber she had
just entered was the one assigned to the young nobleman in the Palace of
Theobalds.

She watched him for some time with curiosity. At length his rage found
vent in words.

"Perdition seize them both!" he exclaimed, smiting his forehead with his
clenched hand. "Was ever man cursed with wife and mother-in-law like
mine! They will, perforce, drive me to desperate measures, which I would
willingly avoid; but if nothing else will keep them quiet, the grave
must. Ay, the grave," he repeated in a hollow voice; "it is not my fault
if I am compelled to send them thither. Fools to torment me thus!"

Feeling she had heard more than she ought, the Countess would have
retired; but as retreat might have betrayed her, she deemed it better to
announce her presence by saying,

"You are not alone, my Lord."

Startled by her voice, Lord Roos instantly turned, and regarded her with
haggard looks.

"You here, Frances?" he exclaimed; "I did not expect you so soon."

"I came before the hour, because--but you seem greatly agitated. Has
anything happened?"

"Little more than what happens daily," he replied. "And yet it _is_
more; for the crisis has arrived, and a fearful crisis it is. O,
Frances!" he continued vehemently, "how dear you are to me. To preserve
your love I would dare everything, even my soul's welfare. I would
hesitate at no crime to keep you ever near me. Let those beware who
would force you from me."

"What means this passion, my Lord?" inquired the Count