NEWS FOR CLAUDIA.
Oh, in their deaths, remember they are men,
Strain not revenge to wish their tortures grievous.
--_Addison_.
Death--even the most serene and beautiful death, coming to a good
old man at the close of a long, beneficent life--is awful. Sudden
and violent death, falling upon a strong young man in the midst of
his sins and follies, is horrible. But perhaps the most appalling
aspect under which the last messenger can appear is that of a
deliberately inflicted judicial death.
Such a doom, pronounced upon the greatest sinner that ever lived,
must move the pity of his bitterest enemy.
The family at Cameron Court formed a Christian household. They
received the news of Frisbie's conviction with solemn, compassionate
approbation. Justice approved the sentence; but mercy pitied the
victim. And they passed the day of his execution in a Sabbath
stillness.
They were glad when the day was over; glad when the late evening
mail brought the afternoon papers from Banff, announcing that the
tragedy was finished; glad to read there that the sinner had
repented, confessed, and died, hoping in the mercy of the Father,
through the atonement of sin.
Each one breathed a sigh of infinite relief to find that this sinner
had not endangered his soul by impenitently rushing from man's
temporal to God's eternal condemnation.
No one failed to see the immense importance of Frisbie's dying
confession as evidence for the prosecution in the approaching trial
of the Viscount Vincent and Faustina Dugald; or the fatal effect it
must have upon the accused; yet no one spoke of it then and there.
The day of stern retributive justice was not the time for unseemly
triumph.
They separated for the night, gravely and almost sadly.
Claudia went up to her room, where her women, Katie and Sally,
reinstated in her service, were in attendance. Sally, as usual, was
silent and humble; Katie, equally as usual, talkative and
dictatorial.
"And so de shamwally is hung at last! serbe him right; and I hopes
it did him good; an' I wish it was my lordship an' de whited salt-
peter along ob him!" she said, folding her arms ever her fat bosom
and rolling herself from side to side with infinite satisfaction.
"For shame, Katie, to triumph so over a dead man! I should have
thought a good Christian woman like you would have prayed for him
before he died," said Claudia gravely.
"'Deed didn't I! An' I aint gwine to do it nuther. I aint gwine to
bother my Hebbenly Master 'bout no sich grand vilyan! dere now!"
"Oh, Katie, Katie, I am afraid you are a great heathen!"
"Well, den, I just ruther be a heathen dan a whited salt-peter, or a
shamwally, or a lordship either, if I couldn't do no more credit to
it dan some," said Katie, having, as usual, the last word.
Claudia longed to be alone on this night; so she soon dismissed her
attendants, closed up her room, put out all her lights, and lay down
in darkness, solitude, and meditation.
Strange! but on this night her thoughts, and even her sympathies,
were with Lord Vincent in his prison cell. Why should she think of
him? Why should she pity him? She had never loved him, never even
fancied that she loved him, even in the delusive days of courtship;
or in the early days of marriage; and she had despised and shunned
him in the miserable days of their estranged life at Castle Cragg.
Why, then, as she lay there in the darkness, silence, and solitude
of her own chamber, should her imagination hover over him? Why did
she contemplate him in sorrow and in compassion?
Because in that dreary cell she saw the twofold man--the man that he
ought to have been, and the man that he was; because she was his
wife, and though she had never loved him, yet with better treatment
she might have been won to do so; and finally, because she was a
woman, and therefore full of sympathy with every sort of suffering.
She knew that the dying confession of Frisbie would seal Lord
Vincent's fate. And she contemplated that fate as she had never done
before.
Penal servitude.
Why it had seemed a mere, empty phrase until now. Now it was an
appalling reality brimful of horror, even for the coarsest, dullest,
and hardest criminal; but of how much more for him.
Lord Vincent in the prison garb, working in chains; inquired after
by curious sight-seers; and pointed out to strangers as the felon-
viscount.
She meditated on the effect all this would have on him, in the
unspeakable misery it would inflict upon his vain, insolent, self-
indulgent organization; and she marveled how he would ever endure
it.
And she thought of the dishonor this would reflect upon herself as
his wife. And she shrunk shudderingly away from the burning shame of
living on, the wife of a felon.
In the deep compassion she could not but feel for him, and in the
intense mortification she anticipated for herself, she earnestly
wished that in some manner he might escape the degrading penalty of
his crimes.
In these harassing thoughts and distressing feelings Claudia lay
tossing upon her restless bed until long after midnight, when at
length she dropped into a deep and dreamless sleep.
Now the circumstance that I am about to relate will be interpreted
in a different manner by different people. Rationalists who pin
their faith on Sir Walter Scott and his "Demonology" will say it was
only an optical illusion; the incredulous, who believe in nothing,
will declare it was but a dream; while Spiritualists, who follow Mr.
Robert Dale Owen in his "Footprints on the Boundaries of Another
World," will be ready to declare that it was the apparition of a
spirit; I commit myself to no opinion on the subject.
But when Claudia had slept soundly for three hours she was aroused
by hearing her name called; she awoke with a violent start; she sat
upright in bed, and stared right before her with fixed eyes, pallid
face, and immovable form, as though she were suddenly petrified.
For there at the foot of the bed, between the tall posts, in the
division formed by the festoons of the curtains, stood the figure of
the Viscount Vincent. His face was pale, still, stern, like that of
a dead man; one livid hand clutched his breast, the other was
stretched towards her; and from the cold, blue, motionless lips
proceeded a voice hollow as the distant moan of the wintry wind
through leafless woods:
"Claudia, the debt is paid!"
With these words the vision slowly dissolved to air. Then, and not
until then, was the icy spell that bound all Claudia's faculties
loosened. She uttered piercing shriek upon shriek that startled all
the sleepers in the house, and brought them rushing into her room.
Katie and Sally being the nearest, were the first to enter.
"For Marster's sake, my ladyship, what is the matter?" inquired the
old woman, while Sally stood by in a dumb terror.
"Oh, Katie, Katie! it was Lord Vincent! He has contrived to make his
escape in some manner! He is out of prison! he is in this very
house! he was in this room but a minute ago, though I do not see him
now! and he spoke to me!"
"My goodness gracious me alibe, Miss Claudia, honey, it couldn't a
been he! he's locked up safe in jail, you know! It mus' a been his
sperrit!" said superstitious Katie, with the deepest awe.
"Claudia, my dearest, what is the matter? What is all this? What has
happened?" anxiously inquired the Countess of Hurstmonceux, as,
hastily wrapped in her dressing-gown, she hurried into the chamber
and up to Claudia's bedside.
"Come closer, Berenice; stoop down; now listen! The viscount has
broken prison! he was here but a moment ago! and he is gone! but his
unexpected appearance in this place and at this hour, looking as he
did so deathly pale, so livid and so corpse-like, frightened me
nearly out of my senses, and I screamed with terror. I--I tremble
even yet."
"My dearest Claudia, you have been dreaming. Compose yourself," said
Lady Hurstmonceux soothingly.
"My dearest Berenice, it was no dream, believe me. I was indeed
asleep, fast asleep; but I was awakened by hearing myself called by
name--'Claudia, Claudia, Claudia,' three times. And I opened my eyes
and sat up in bed, and saw standing at the foot, looking at me
between the curtains, Lord Vincent."
At this moment Judge Merlin, in his dressing-gown and slippers, came
slowly into the chamber, looking around in a bewildered way and
saying:
"They told me the screams proceeded from my daughter's apartment.
What is the matter here? Claudia, my dear, what has happened? What
has frightened you?" he inquired, approaching her bedside.
"Oh, my poor papa, have you been disturbed, too? How sorry I am!"
said Claudia.
"Never mind me, my dear! What has happened to you?"
"Lady Vincent has been frightened by a disagreeable dream, sir,"
replied Lady Hurstmonceux, answering for her friend.
"My dear lady, you here!" exclaimed the judge, seeing her for the
first time since he entered the room.
"I am a light sleeper," smiled the countess.
"I am very sorry, papa, that I aroused the house in this manner,"
said Claudia, with real regret in her tone.
"It was not like you to do so, for a dream, my dear," replied the
judge gravely.
"It was no dream, papa! it was no dream, as the result will prove."
"What was it then, my dear?"
"It was the Viscount Vincent!"
"The Viscount Vincent!" exclaimed the judge, in astonishment.
"Yes, papa; he has contrived to escape and to enter this house and
this very room. It was his sudden appearance that frightened me into
the screaming fit that alarmed the household; and for which I am
very sorry."
"The Viscount Vincent here! But how on earth could he have escaped
from prison?"
"I do not know, papa. I only know by the evidence of my own senses
that he has done so."
"My dearest Claudia, believe me, you have been dreaming. Judge
Merlin, if you knew the great strength and security of our prisons,
you would also know how impossible it would be for any prisoner to
escape," said Lady Hurstmonceux, addressing in turn the father and
the daughter.
"Berenice, that I have not been dreaming to-morrow will show. For
to-morrow you and all concerned will know that Lord Vincent has
escaped from prison. But my dear Berenice, and you, my dearest
father, promise to me one thing; promise me not to give Lord Vincent
up to justice; but to suffer him to get away from the country, if he
can do so. That is doubtless all that he proposes to himself to do.
And such exile will be punishment enough in itself for him,
especially as it will involve the resignation of his rank, title,
and inheritance. So let him get away if he can. He can work no
further woe for me. Frisbie's dying confession has killed off all
his calumnies against me. He is harmless henceforth. So leave him to
God," pleaded Claudia.
"I am willing to do, or leave undone, whatever you please, my dear;
but--do you really think that you actually did see the viscount, and
that you did not only dream of seeing him?" inquired the judge,
unable to get over his amazement.
"Yes, papa; I saw him; and to-morrow will prove that I did so," said
Claudia emphatically.
Lady Hurstmonceux smiled incredulously, for she did not reflect that
there were more ways than one of breaking out of prison.
"But supposing it to have been the viscount; and supposing that he
had succeeded in bursting locks and bars and eluding guards and
sentinels; why should he have come here, of all places in the world?
What could have been his motive in so risking a recapture?" inquired
the judge, who seemed inclined to investigate the affair then and
there.
"I do not know, papa. I have not had time to think. I was so
astonished and even frightened at his mere appearance that I never
asked myself the reason of it," answered Claudia.
"Did you not ask him?"
"No, papa. I only screamed."
"Did he not speak to you?"
"Yes, papa."
"What did he say?"
"Papa, I had better tell you just how it happened," answered
Claudia, giving the judge a detailed account of the dream, vision,
or ghost, as the reader chooses to call it; but which she persisted
in declaring to be the viscount himself in the flesh.
"It is most extraordinary! How did he get out? Lady Hurstmonceux,
had we not better have the house searched for him?" inquired the
judge.
"It shall be done if you please, judge; though I think it
unnecessary."
"Papa, no! he went as he came. Let him go. I hope he will be clear
of the country before to-morrow morning."
At this moment the clock struck five, although it was still pitch-
dark and far from the dawn of day.
"There! I declare it is to-morrow morning already, as the Irish
would say. Lady Hurstmonceux, do not let me keep you up any longer.
I know your usual hour for rising at this season of the year is
eight o'clock. You will have three good hours' sleep before you yet.
Papa, dear, go to bed or you will make yourself ill."
"Are you sure you will not have anything before I go, Claudia?"
inquired the countess.
"Nothing whatever, dear; I think I shall sleep."
Lady Hurstmonceux stooped and kissed her friend, and then, with a
smile and a bow to the judge, she retired from the room.
"Do you think now that you will rest, Claudia?" inquired the judge.
"Yes, papa, yes. Go to rest yourself."
He also stooped and kissed her, and then left the chamber.
"Go to bed, Katie and Sally," said Claudia to her women.
"'Deed 'fore de Lord aint I gwine to no bed to leabe you here by
yourse'f. I don't want you to see no more sperrits," replied Katie.
And she left the room for a few minutes and returned dragging in her
mattress, which she spread upon the floor, and upon which she threw
herself to sleep for the remainder of the dark hours.
Lady Vincent submitted to this intrusion, because she knew it would
be utterly useless to expostulate. But Sally began to whimper.
"Now, den, what de matter long o' you? You seen a sperrit too?"
demanded Katie.
"I's feared to sleep by myse'f, for fear I should see somethin',"
wept Sally.
"Den you lay down here by me," ordered Katie.
And thus it was that Lady Vincent's two women shared her sleeping
room the remainder of that disturbed night--to be disturbed no
longer; for, whether it was owing to the presence of the negroes or
not, Claudia slept untroubled by dream, vision, or apparition, until
the daylight streaming through one window, that had been left
unclosed, awakened her.
It was ten o'clock, however, before the family assembled at the
breakfast table, where they were engaged in discussing the affair of
the previous night, and in each maintaining his or her own opinion
as to its character; Claudia persisting that it was the Viscount
Vincent in person that she had seen; Berenice contending that it was
a dream; and the judge hesitating between two opinions; Ishmael
silent.
"A very few hours will now decide the question," said Claudia,
abandoning the discussion and beginning to chip her egg. At this
moment came a sound of wheels on the drive before the house,
followed by a loud knock at the door.
"There! I should not in the least wonder if that is a detachment of
police coming to tell us that Lord Vincent has broken prison, and
bringing a warrant to search this house for him," said Claudia, half
rising to listen.
A servant entered the room and said:
"Sergeant McRae is out in the hall, asking to see his honor the
judge."
"I thought so," said Claudia briskly.
The judge went out to see the sergeant of police.
Claudia and Berenice suspended their breakfast, and waited in
intense anxiety the result of the interview.
Some little time elapsed, perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes, though
the impatience of the ladies made it seem an hour in length; and
then the door slowly opened and the judge gravely re-entered the
breakfast room.
"It is as I said. The Viscount Vincent has broken jail and they have
come here with a search warrant to look for him!" exclaimed Claudia,
glancing up at her father as he approached; but when she saw the
expression of profound melancholy in his countenance, she started,
turned pale, and cried:
"Good Heaven, papa, what--what has happened?"
"Partly what you have anticipated, Claudia. The Viscount Vincent has
broken out of prison, but not in the manner you supposed," solemnly
replied the judge, taking his daughter's arm and leading her to a
sofa and seating her upon it.
Lady Hurstmonceux, startled, anxious, and alarmed, followed and
stood by her and held her hand. And both ladies gazed inquiringly
into the disturbed face of the old man.
"There is something--something behind! What is it, papa? The
viscount has broken jail, you say! Has he--has he--killed one of the
guards in making his escape?" inquired Claudia, in a low, awe-
stricken voice.
"No, my dear, he has not done that. He has escaped the tribunal of
man to rush uncalled to the tribunal of God," said the judge
solemnly.
Claudia, though her dilated eyes were fixed in eager questioning on
the face of her father, and though her ears were strained to catch
his low-toned words, yet did not seem to gather in his meaning.
"What--what do you say, papa? Explain!" she breathed in scarcely
audible syllables.
"The Viscount Vincent is dead!"
"Dead!" ejaculated Claudia.
"Dead!" echoed the countess.
"Dead, by his own act!" repeated the judge.
Claudia sank back in the corner of the sofa and covered her face
with her hands--overcome, not by sorrow certainly, but by awe and
pity.
Berenice sat down beside the newly made widow, and put her arms
around her waist, and drew her head upon her bosom. Judge Merlin
stood silently before them. The only one who seemed to have the full
possession of his faculties was Ishmael.
He quietly dismissed the gaping servants from the room, closed the
doors, and drew a resting-chair to the side of his old friend, and
gently constrained him to sit down in it. And then he was about to
glide away when the judge seized his hand and detained him, saying
imploringly:
"No, no, Ishmael! no, no, my dearest young friend! do not leave us
at this solemn crisis."
Ishmael placed his hand in that of the old man, as an earnest of
fidelity, and remained standing by him.
After a little while Claudia lifted her head from the bosom of Lady
Hurstmonceux, and said:
"Oh, papa, this is dreadful!"
"Dreadful, indeed, my dear."
"That any human being should be driven to such a fate!"
"To such a crime, Claudia," gravely amended the judge.
"Crime, then, if you will call it so. But I do not wonder at it. May
God in his infinite mercy forgive him!" fervently prayed Claudia.
"Amen!" deeply responded the judge.
"Papa, they say that suicides are never forgiven--can never be
forgiven--because their sin is the last act of their life, affording
no time for repentance. Yet who knows that for certain? Who knows
but in the short interval between the deed and the death, there may
not be repentance and pardon?"
"Who knows, indeed! 'With God all things are possible.'"
"Oh, papa, I hope he repented and is pardoned!"
"I hope so too, Claudia."
She dropped her head once more upon the bosom of Lady Hurstmonceux,
in pity and in awe; but not in sorrow, for his death was an infinite
relief to her and to all connected with him. After a little while
she raised her head again, and in a low, hushed voice, inquired:
"Papa, at what hour did he die?"
"Between four and five o'clock this morning, my dear."
"Between four and five o'clock this morning! Good Heavens!"
exclaimed Claudia and Berenice simultaneously, starting and gazing
into each other's faces.
"What is the matter?" gravely inquired the judge.
"That was the very hour in which Claudia was awakened by her strange
dream!" replied Lady Hurstmonceux.
"Oh, papa! that was the very hour in which I saw Lord Vincent
standing at the foot of my bed!" exclaimed Claudia, with a shudder.
"How passing strange!" mused the judge.
"Oh, papa! can such things really be? can a parting spirit appear to
us the moment it leaves the body?" inquired Claudia, in an awe-
struck manner.
"My dear if anyone had related to me such a strange circumstance as
this, of which we are all partly cognizant, I should have
discredited the whole affair. As it is, I know not what to make of
it. It may have been a dream; nay, it must have been a dream; yet,
even as a dream, occurring just at the hour it did, it was certainly
an astonishing and a most marvelous coincidence."
Again Claudia dropped her head upon the supporting bosom of Lady
Hurstmonceux, but this time it was in weariness and in thought that
she reposed there.
A few minutes passed, and then, without lifting her head, she
murmured:
"Tell me all about it, papa; I must learn some time; as well now as
any other."
"Can you bear to hear the story now, Claudia?"
"Better now, I think, than at a future time; I am in a measure
prepared for it now. How did it happen, papa?"
The judge drew closer to his daughter, took her hand in his, and
said:
"I will tell you, as McRae told me, my dear. You must know that from
the time Lord Vincent read the published confession of Frisbie, in
the afternoon papers, he became so much changed in all respects as
to excite the attention, then the suspicion, and finally the alarm
of his keepers. At six o'clock after the turnkey, Donald, had paid
his last visit to his prisoner, and locked up the cell for the
night, he reported the condition of Lord Vincent to the governor of
the jail. Mr. Gra'ame, on hearing the account given by Donald,
determined to curtail many of the privileges his lordship had
hitherto, as an untried prisoner, enjoyed. Among the rest he
determined that nothing more should be carried to his lordship in
his cell that he, the governor, had not first examined, as a
precautionary measure against drugs or tools, with which the
prisoner might do himself a mischief."
"I should think they ought to have taken that precaution from the
first," said Claudia.
"It is not usual in the case of an untried prisoner; but, however,
the governor of Banff jail seemed to think as you do, for he farther
determined to make a special visit to the prisoner that night, to
search his cell and remove from it everything with which he might
possibly injure himself. And accordingly the governor, accompanied
by the turnkey, went to the cell and made a thorough search. They
found nothing suspicious, however. But in their late though
excessive caution they carried away, not only the prisoner's razor,
but his pen-knife and scissors. And then they left him."
"And after all, left him with the means of self-destruction,"
exclaimed Claudia.
"No, they did not. You shall hear. About eight o'clock that night,
as the watchman of that ward was pacing his rounds, he heard deep
groans issuing from Lord Vincent's cell. He went and gave the alarm.
The warden, the physician, and the turnkey entered the cell
together. They found the viscount in the agonies of death."
"Great Heavens! Alone and dying in his cell!"
"Yes; and suffering even more distress of mind than of body. When it
was too late, he regretted his rash deed. For he freely confessed
that being driven to despair and almost if not quite to madness, by
the desperate state of his affairs, he had procured laudanum through
the agency of his servant, having persuaded the old man that he
merely wanted the medicine to allay pain."
"Poor, poor soul!"
"Cuthbert, simple and unsuspicious, and as easily deceived as a
child, brought the laudanum to him and bid him adieu for the night.
And it was in the interval between the last visit of the turnkey and
the special visit of the governor that the prisoner drank the whole
of the laudanum. And then to prevent suspicion he washed the label
from the bottle and poured in a little ink from his inkstand. So
that when the governor made his visit of inspection, although he
actually handled that bottle, he took it for nothing else but a
receptacle for ink."
"Oh, how dreadful! how dreadful, that anyone should exercise so much
calculation, cunning, and foresight for the destruction of his own
soul!" moaned Claudia.
"Yes; he himself thought so at last; for no sooner did the poison
begin to do its work, no sooner did he feel death approaching, than
he was seized with horror at the enormity of his own crime, and with
remorse for the sins of his whole life. It would seem that in that
hour his eyes were opened for the first time, and he saw himself as
he really was, a rampant rebel against all the laws of God and on
the brink of eternal perdition. It was the great agony of mind
produced by this view of himself and his condition that forced from
him those deep groans that were heard by the night-watch, who
brought the relief to him."
"Then he must have repented. Oh! I hope that God forgave him!"
prayed Claudia, with earnest tones and clasped hands.
"You may be sure that God did forgive him if he truly repented!
Certainly it seemed that he repented; for he begged for antidotes,
declaring that he wished to live to atone for the sins of his past.
Antidotes were administered, but without the least good effect. And
when he repeated his earnest wish to be permitted to live that he
might 'atone by his future life for the sins of his past,' the
physician, who is a good man, sent for the chaplain of the jail, a
fervent Christian, who told the prisoner how impossible it was for
him, should he have a new lease of life, to atone, by years of
penance, for the smallest sin of his soul; but pointed him at the
same time to the One Divine Atoner, who is able to save to the
uttermost. The chaplain remained praying with the dying man until
half-past four o'clock this morning, when he breathed his last. That
is all, Claudia."
"Oh, papa, you see he did repent; and I will hope that God has
pardoned him," said Claudia earnestly; but she was very pale and
faint, and she leaned heavily upon the shoulder of Lady
Hurstmonceux.
"My dearest Claudia, let me lead you to your room; you require
repose after this excitement," said the countess, giving her arm to
the new widow.
Claudia arose; but the judge gently arrested her progress.
"Stay, my dear! One word before you go. The business of McRae here
was not only to announce the death of Lord Vincent, but also the
approaching trial of Faustina Dugald. It comes on at ten o'clock to-
morrow morning. You are summoned as a witness for the prosecution.
Therefore, my dear, we must leave Edinboro' for Banff by the
afternoon express train."
"Oh, papa! to appear in a public court at such a time!" exclaimed
Claudia, with a shudder.
"I know it is hard, my dear. I know it must be dreadful; but I also
know that the way of Justice is like the progress of the Car of
Juggernaut. It stops for nothing; it rolls on in its irresistible
course, crushing under its iron wheels all conventionalities, all
proprieties, all sensibilities. And I know also, my daughter, that
you are equal to the duties, the exertions, and the sacrifices that
Justice requires of you. There, go now! take what repose you can for
the next few hours, to be ready for the train at six o'clock," said
the judge, stooping, and pressing a kiss upon his daughter's brow,
before the countess led her away.
"Ishmael," said the judge, as soon as they were alone, "do you know
what you and I have got to do now?"
"Yes, sir," said the young man solemnly, "I know."
"That poor, unhappy man in yonder prison has no friend or relative
to claim his body, his father being absent; and if we do not claim
it, it will be ignominiously buried by the prison authorities within
the prison walls."
"I thought of that, but waited for your suggestion. If you please I
will see the proper authorities to-morrow and make arrangements with
them."
"Do, my dear young friend," said the judge, wringing his hand as he
left him.
Amid the great crises of life its small proprieties must still be
observed. This the Countess of Hurstmonceux knew. And, therefore, as
soon as she had seen Claudia reposing on her comfortable sofa in her
chamber, she ordered her carriage and drove to Edinboro', and to a
celebrated mourning warehouse where they got up outfits on the
shortest notice, and there she procured a widow's complete dress,
including the gown, mantle, bonnet, veil, and gloves, and took them
home to Claudia. For she knew that if Lady Vincent were compelled to
appear in the public courtroom the next day, she must wear widow's
weeds.
When she took these articles into Claudia's room and showed them to
her, the latter said:
"My dear Berenice, I thank you very much for your thoughtful care.
But do you know that it would seem like hypocrisy in me to wear this
mourning?"
"My dearest Claudia, conventionalities must be observed though the
heavens fall. You owe this to yourself, to society, and even to the
dead--for in his death he has atoned for much to you."
"I will wear them then," said Claudia.
And there the matter ended.
Meanwhile, the news of Lord Vincent's death had got about among the
servants. Katie and Sally also had heard of it.
So that when Lady Vincent rang for her women to come and pack up her
traveling trunk to go to Banff, Katie entered full of the subject.
"So my lordship has gone to his account, and all from takin' of an
overdose of laudamy drops. How careful people ought to be when they
meddles long o' dat sort o' truck. Well, laws! long as he's dead and
gone I forgibs him for heavin' of me down to lib long o' de rats,
and den sellin' ob me to de barbariums in de Stingy Isles. 'Deed
does I forgibs him good too. and likewise de shamwally while I'se
got my hand in at forgibness," she said.
"That's right, Katie. Never let your hatred follow a man to the
grave," said Claudia.
"I wouldn't forgib 'em if dey wasn't dead, dough. 'Deed wouldn't I.
I tell you all good too. And if dey was to come back to life I would
just take my forgibness back again. And it should all be just like
it was before," said Katie, sharply defining her position.
Claudia sadly shook her head.
"That is a very questionable species of forgiveness, Katie," she
said.
That afternoon the whole party, including the Countess of
Hurstmonceux, who declared her intention of supporting Claudia
through the approaching ordeal, left Cameron Court for Edinboro',
where they took the six o'clock train for Banff, where they arrived
at ten the same evening.
They went to the "Highlander," where they engaged comfortable
apartments and settled themselves for a few days.