His forbearance and bucolic gallantry were needed, for he had the Countess's radiant full visage alone.

Her senses were dancing in her right ear, which had heard the name of Lady Racial pronounced, and a voice respond to it from the carriage.
Into what a pit had she suddenly plunged! You ask why she did not drive away as fast as the horses would carry her, and fly the veiled head of Demogorgon obscuring valley and hill and the shining firmament, and threatening to glare destruction on her?
You do not know an intriguer.
She relinquishes the joys of life for the joys of intrigue.

This is her element.

The Countess did feel that the heavens were hard on her.

She resolved none the less to fight her way to her object; for where so much had conspired to favour her--the decease of the generous Sir Abraham Harrington, of Torquay, and the invitation to Beckley Court--could she believe the heavens in league against her?
Did she not nightly pray to them, in all humbleness of body, for the safe issue of her cherished schemes?
And in this, how unlike she was to the rest of mankind! She thought so; she relied on her devout observances; they gave her sweet confidence, and the sense of being specially shielded even when specially menaced.