towards her—a figure she recognized at once—clad in a dressing-gown, and in his hand a lighted taper. His neck was bare; the collar of his silk shirt thrown back, his naked feet thrust into soft slippers that fell noiseless on the carpet as he stole along.
Elizabeth's heart beat violently. He was still some distance from the window, and she was prepared to return precipitately, thinking he was coming on to the balcony, when he stopped at a door on the opposite side of the passage, and opening it softly, entered.
It was the door of Mrs. Shaw's bedroom.
******
How long Elizabeth remained there, she never knew. She was conscious, after a time, of staggering back into her room, half-stunned, and of flinging herself upon her bed. She could not be said to feel anything. The unutterable horror of what had thus accidentally come to her knowledge seemed to have turned her to stone. An abyss of depravity, such as she had never dreamt of, yawned at her feet. The cruelty, the hypocrisy, the conspiracy, of the guilty couple—she understood it all, as her mind slowly regained its equilibrium. She had been their dupe. As to the man, no words were strong enough to tell his baseness—his vile, sordid treachery. And she, who said she stood in the light of a mother towards Elizabeth—her depravity was, if possible, worse. Instead of a protectress, she had done her best to sacrifice the girl committed to her charge. In order to enrich her lover, and to keep him near her, Mrs. Shaw had plotted this devilish scheme. Her niece's life would be ruined—but what of that?
