As he spoke, youth with its brilliant hopes, illusions, and beliefs,
passed from me, never to return in the same measure again. I stared at
the glimmering amethyst, I stared at the empty vial, and, as a full
realisation of all his words implied seized my benumbed faculties, I
felt the icy chill of some grisly horror moving among the roots of my
hair, lifting it on my forehead and filling my whole being with
shrinking and dismay.
Sinclair, with a quick movement, replaced the tiny flask in its old
receptacle, and then, thrusting the whole out of sight, seized my hand
and wrung it.
"I am your friend," he whispered. "Remember, under all circumstances and
in every exigency, your friend."
"What are you going to do with _those_?" I demanded, when I regained
control of my speech.
"I do not know."
"What are you going to do with--with Dorothy?"
He drooped his head; I could see his fingers working in the moonlight.
"The physicians will soon be here. I heard the telephone going a few
minutes ago. When they have pronounced the old woman dead we will give
the--the lady you mention an opportunity to explain herself."
Explain herself, she! Simple expectation. Unconsciously I shook my head.
"It is the least we can do," he gently persisted. "Come, we must not be
seen with our heads together--not yet. I am sorry that we two were found
more or less dressed at the time of the alarm. It may cause comment."
"She was dressed, too," I murmured, as much to myself as to him.
"Unfortunately, yes," was the muttered reply, with which he drew off and
hastened into the hall, where the now thoroughly-aroused household stood
in a great group about the excited hostess.
Mrs. Armstrong was not the woman for an emergency. With streaming hair
and tightly-clutched kimono, she was gesticulating wildly and bemoaning
the break in the festivities which this event must necessarily cause. As
Sinclair approached, she turned her tirade on him, and as all stood
still to listen and add such words of sympathy or disappointment as
suggested themselves in the excitement of the moment, I had an
opportunity to note that neither of the two girls most interested was
within sight. This troubled me. Drawing up to the outside of the circle,
I asked Beaton, who was nearest to me, if he knew how Miss Camerden was.
"Better, I hear. Poor girl! it was a great shock to her."
I ventured nothing more. The conventionality of his tone was not to be
mistaken. Our conversation on the veranda was to be ignored. I did not
know whether to feel relief at this or an added distress. I was in a
whirl of emotion which robbed me of all discrimination. As I realised my
own condition, I concluded that my wisest move would be to withdraw
myself for a time from every eye. Accordingly, and at the risk of
offending more than one pretty girl who still had something to say
concerning this terrible mischance, I slid away to my room, happy to
escape the murmurs and snatches of talk rising on every side. One bitter
speech, uttered by I do not know whom, rang in my ears and made all
thinking unendurable. It was this:
"Poor woman! she was angry once too often. I heard her scolding Dorothy
again after she went to her room. That is why Dorothy is so overcome.
She says it was the violence of her aunt's rage which killed her--a
rage of which she unfortunately was the cause."
So there were words again between these two after the door closed upon
them for the night! Was this what we heard just before that scream went
up? It would seem so. Thereupon, quite against my will, I found myself
thinking of Dorothy's changed position before the world. Only yesterday
a dependent slave; to-day, the owner of millions. Gilbertine would have
her share--a large one--but there was enough to make them both wealthy.
Intolerable thought! Would that no money had been involved! I hated to
think of those diamonds and----
Oh, anything was better than this! Dashing from my room, I joined one of
the groups into which the single large circle had now broken up. The
house had been lighted from end to end, and some effort had been made at
a more respectable appearance by such persons as I now saw; some even
were fully dressed. All were engaged in discussing the one great topic.
Listening and not listening, I waited for the front-door bell to ring.
It sounded while one woman was saying to another:
"The Sinclairs will now be able to take their honeymoon in their own
yacht."
I made my way to where I could watch Sinclair while the physicians were
in the room. I thought his face looked very noble. The narrowness of his
own escape, the sympathy for me which the event, so much worse than
either of us anticipated, had wakened in his generous breast,
had called out all that was best in his naturally reserved and
not-always-to-be-understood nature. A tower of strength he was to me at
that hour. I knew that mercy, and mercy only, would influence his
conduct. He would be guilty of no rash or inconsiderate act. He would
give this young girl a chance.
Therefore, when the physicians had pronounced the case one of apoplexy
(a conclusion most natural under the circumstances), and the excitement
which had held together the various groups of uneasy guests had begun to
subside, it was with perfect confidence I saw him approach and address
Gilbertine. She was standing fully dressed at the stair-head, where she
had stopped to hold some conversation with the retiring physicians; and
the look she gave him in return, and the way she moved off in obedience
to his command or suggestion, assured me that he was laying plans for an
interview with Dorothy. Consequently, I was quite ready to obey him when
he finally stepped up to me and said:
"Go below, and if you find the library empty, as I have no doubt you
will, light one gas jet, and see that the door to the conservatory is
unlocked. I require a place in which to make Gilbertine comfortable
while I have some words with her cousin."
"But how will you be able to influence Miss Camerden to come down?"
Somehow, the familiar name of Dorothy would not pass my lips. "Do you
think she will recognise your right to summon her to an interview?"
"Yes."
I had never seen his lip take that firm line before, yet I had always
known him to be a man of great resolution.
"But how can you reach her? She is shut up in her own room, under the
care, I am told, of Mrs. Armstrong's maid."
"I know; but she will escape that dreadful place as soon as her feet
will carry her. I shall wait in the hall till I see her come out; then I
will urge her to follow me, and she will do so, attended by Gilbertine."
"And I? Do you mean me to be present at an interview so painful--nay, so
serious and so threatening? It would cut short every word you hope to
hear. I--cannot----"
"I have not asked you to. It is imperative that I should see Miss
Camerden alone." (He could not call her Dorothy, either.) "I shall ask
Gilbertine to accompany us, so that appearances may be preserved. I want
you to be able to inform any one who approaches the door that you saw me
go in there with Miss Murray."
"Then I am to stay in the hall?"
"If you will be so kind."
The clock struck three.
"It is very late," I exclaimed. "Why not wait till morning?"
"And have the whole house about our ears? No. Besides, some things will
not keep an hour, a moment. I must hear what this young girl has to say
in response to my questions. Remember, I am the owner of the flask
whose contents killed the old woman!"
"You believe she died from swallowing that drop?"
"Absolutely."