errific work which was
going on, and to avert which she had endured so much, at the cost of
such suffering to herself. She saw the form of Lord Chetwynde failing
more and more every day, and still, while he struggled against the
approach of insidious disease, yielding, in spite of himself, to its
resistless progress. She saw him going from place to place, summoning
the physicians of each town where he stopped, and giving up both town
and physicians in despair. She saw, also, how all the time there
stood by his side one who was filled with one dark purpose, in the
accomplishment of which he was perseveringly cruel and untiringly
patient--one who watched the growing weakness of his victim with
cold-blooded interest, noting every decrease of strength, and every
sign which might give token of the end--one, too, who thought that
she was hastening after him to join in his work, and was only
delaying in order to join him when all was over, so as to give him
her congratulations, and bestow upon him the reward which he had made
her promise that she would grant.

Thoughts like these filled her with madness. Wretched and almost
hopeless, prostrated by her weakness, yet consumed by an ardent
desire to rush onward and save the dying man from the grasp of the
destroyer, her soul became a prey to a thousand contending emotions,
and endured the extreme of the anguish of suspense. Such a struggle
as this proved too much for her. One night was enough to prostrate
her once more to that stage of utter weakness which made all hope of
travel impossible. In that state of prostration her mind still
continued active, and the thoughts that never ceased to come were
those which prevented her from rallying readily. For the one idea
that was ever present was this, that while she was thus helpless,
_her work was still going on_--that work which she had ordered and
directed. That emissary whom she had sent out was now, as she well
knew, fulfilling her mandate but too zealously. The power was now all
in his own hands. And she herself--what could she do? He had already
defied her authority--would he now give up his purpose, even if she
wished? She might have telegraphed from London a command to him to
stop all further proceedings till she came; but, even if she had done
so, was it at all probable that he, after what had happened, would
have obeyed? She had not done so, because she did not feel in a
position to issue commands any longer in her old styl