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‘Ho–ho–ho!’ says he. ‘Frightened, dear one, hey? What a baby ’tis! Only a joke, sure, Barbara–a splendid joke! But a baby should not go to closets at midnight to look for the ghost of the dear departed! If it do it must expect to be terrified at his aspect–ho–ho–ho!’

When she was in her bed-chamber, and had quite come to herself; though her nerves were still much shaken, he spoke to her more sternly. ‘Now, my lady, answer me: do you love him–eh?’

‘No–no!’ she faltered, shuddering, with her expanded eyes fixed on her husband. ‘He is too terrible–no, no!’

‘You are sure?’

‘Quite sure!’ replied the poor broken-spirited Countess. But her natural elasticity asserted itself. Next morning he again inquired of her: ‘Do you love him now?’

She quailed under his gaze, but did not reply.

‘That means that you do still, by G—!’ he continued.

‘It means that I will not tell an untruth, and do not wish to incense my lord,’ she answered, with dignity.

‘Then suppose we go and have another look at him?’ As he spoke, he suddenly took her by the wrist, and turned as if to lead her towards the ghastly closet.

‘No–no! Oh–no!’ she cried, and her desperate wriggle out of his hand revealed that the fright of the night had left more impression upon her delicate soul than superficially appeared.

‘Another dose or two, and she will be cured,’ he said to himself.

It was now so generally known that the Earl and Countess were not in accord, that he took no great trouble to disguise his deeds in relation to this matter. During the day he ordered four men with ropes and rollers to attend him in the boudoir. When they arrived, the closet was open, and the upper part of the statue tied up in canvas. He had it taken to the sleeping-chamber. What followed is more or less matter of conjecture. The story, as told to me, goes on to say that, when Lady Uplandtowers retired with him that night, she saw near the foot of the heavy oak four-poster, a tall dark wardrobe, which had not stood there before; but she did not ask what its presence meant.

‘I have had a little whim,’ he explained when they were in the dark.

‘Have you?’ says she.

‘To erect a little shrine, as it may be called.’

‘A little shrine?’

‘Yes; to one whom we both equally adore–eh? I’ll show you what it contains.’

He pulled a cord which hung covered by the bed-curtains, and the doors of the wardrobe slowly opened, disclosing that the shelves within had been removed throughout, and the interior adapted to receive the ghastly figure, which stood there as it had stood in the boudoir, but with a wax- candle burning on each side of it to throw the cropped and distorted features into relief. She clutched him, uttered a low scream, and buried her head in the bedclothes. ‘Oh, take it away–please take it away!’ she implored.

‘All in good time namely, when you love me best,’ he returned calmly. ‘You don’t quite yet–eh?’

‘I don’t know–I think–O Uplandtowers, have mercy–I cannot bear it–O, in pity, take it away!’

‘Nonsense; one gets accustomed to anything. Take another gaze.’

In short, he allowed the doors to remain unclosed at the foot of the bed, and the wax-tapers burning; and such was the strange fascination of the grisly exhibition that a morbid curiosity took possession of the Countess as she lay, and, at his repeated request, she did again look out from the coverlet, shuddered, hid her eyes, and looked again, all the while begging him to take it away, or it would drive her out of her senses. But he would not do so as yet, and the wardrobe was not locked till dawn.

The scene was repeated the next night. Firm in enforcing his ferocious correctives, he continued the treatment till the nerves of the poor lady were quivering in agony under the virtuous tortures inflicted by her lord, to bring her truant heart back to faithfulness.