said. 'Have
you any news of him? And will you tell me (if you have heard
anything), in mercy to his wife?'

Lady Montbarry's thin lips suddenly relaxed into their sad and cruel
smile.

'Why do you ask me about the lost courier?' she said. 'You will know
what has become of him, Miss Lockwood, when the time is ripe for it.'

Agnes started. 'I don't understand you,' she said. 'How shall I know?
Will some one tell me?'

'Some one will tell you.'

Henry could keep silence no longer. 'Perhaps, your ladyship may be the
person?' he interrupted with ironical politeness.

She answered him with contemptuous ease. 'You may be right, Mr.
Westwick. One day or another, I may be the person who tells Miss
Lockwood what has become of Ferrari, if--' She stopped; with her eyes
fixed on Agnes.

'If what?' Henry asked.

'If Miss Lockwood forces me to it.'

Agnes listened in astonishment. 'Force you to it?' she repeated. 'How
can I do that? Do you mean to say my will is stronger than yours?'

'Do you mean to say that the candle doesn't burn the moth, when the
moth flies into it?' Lady Montbarry rejoined. 'Have you ever heard of
such a thing as the fascination of terror? I am drawn to you by a
fascination of terror. I have no right to visit you, I have no wish to
visit you: you are my enemy. For the first time in my life, against
my own will, I submit to my enemy. See! I am waiting because you told
me to wait--and the fear of you (I swear it!) creeps through me while I
stand here. Oh, don't let me excite your curiosity or your pity!
Follow the example of Mr. Westwick. Be hard and brutal and
unforgiving, like him. Grant me my release. Tell me to go.'

The frank and simple nature of Agnes could discover but one
intelligible meaning in this strange outbreak.

'You are mistaken in thinking me your enemy,' she said. 'The wrong you
did me when you gave your hand to Lord Montbarry was not intentionally
done. I forgave you my sufferings in his lifetime. I forgive you even
more freely now that he has gone.'

Henry heard her with mingled emotions of admiration and distress. 'Say
no more!' he exclaimed. 'You are too good to her; she is not worthy of
it.'

The interruption passed unheeded by Lady Montbarry. The simple words
in which Agnes had replied seemed to have absorbed the whole attention
of this strangely-changeable woman. As she listened, her face settled
slowly into an expression of hard and tearless sorrow. There was a
marked