The landing upon which their sleeping chamber opened, was a spacious
platform, covered with a carpet of the softest dyes. It held a couple
of settees--a towering palm in a majolica vase--a bronze statue,
bearing a lamp--and a stand of flowering plants. Full, rich curtains
drawn at the head of the staircase, partially concealed it from the
public view, beyond which the marble stairs, supported by carved oak
banisters, led down to the hall. It was a nook, fitted to form a
boudoir in the warm weather, and was always heated in winter, like the
rest of the house, by hot water pipes.
As the Marchesa rushed out upon this landing, the Baron, unable to
deter her action, followed as quickly as he could. He was fearful of
what she might do, or say. In her state of excitement, which bordered
on insanity, she might inform the entire household that she was not
the woman she appeared to be, and make them think she was a lunatic.
It was with the best intentions, therefore, that he pursued her.
“Leonora! Leonora!” he cried, “be careful! Come back, I entreat you,
and let us argue this matter together.”
But the Marchesa ran to the head of the staircase, and defied him.
“What do I care?” she cried, “let them all hear! Let them all come,
and I will tell them who _I_ am, and what _you_ are!”
She gave a kind of shrill cry, half of triumph and half of despair, as
she concluded, and Von Steinberg already heard a bustle below stairs,
as if the servants had been attracted by the noise and were hastening
to the rescue. He advanced to her side and essayed to place his hand
upon her mouth. She drew a knife at once from her pocket--he could see
the flash of the blade as she grasped it in her hand. The instinct of
self-preservation made him push her from him--she retreated towards
the stairs and slipped on the yielding carpet, and before he could do
anything to save her, the great unwieldy body, unable to recover
itself, had rolled with a scream of terror, down to the very hall,
where it lay inert and unconscious, crushed into a mass of senseless
clay.
As the Baron realised the accident that had occurred, all his
resentment was merged in compassion. He forgot the mocking evil spirit
that had so lately defied and insulted him, and remembered only that
here lay a suffering fellow-creature--a patient to be relieved.
His medical skill rose paramount to every other consideration, and he
was at the foot of the stairs almost as soon as she was. Three or four
servants appeared upon the scene--all had heard the heavy fall and the
scream which had accompanied it. Karl von Steinberg turned the body
gently over--it was totally unconscious and the limbs fell limply from
it. He could not tell how much or how little she was injured--the
first thing to do was to carry her upstairs again to her room--the
next to dispatch a servant for the best surgeon in Town, to render his
professional assistance.
Meanwhile the body of Hannah lay crumpled up upon the bed, and had not
given a single sign of life. She was not dead, so far Von Steinberg
was able to ascertain, but if she would ever regain her consciousness,
he was unable to say. In a short time, he was joined by the famous
surgeon who had fortunately been disengaged, and between them they
undressed the poor mangled carcase, and ascertained the amount of
injury done to it. It was fearful. One thigh had to be set--two
ribs--the left arm--and an ankle. When the operations were completed,
Hannah lay like a swathed mummy in her bed, with her body broken in
all directions, and still unconscious.
“Will she recover?” demanded her husband, “will she ever speak, or
open her eyes again? What is your opinion?”
“It is hard to say, Baron! _You_ should know the lady’s constitution
better than I can. She appears to have a powerful frame, if her
physical strength corresponds with it, I should think it probable that
she will regain her consciousness by and by--but as to recovery, I
really should not like to express an opinion. You see for yourself the
maimed condition she is in--all I can say is, that a cure is possible,
but not at all probable. How did this sad event occur?”
“We were laughing and playing together on the landing,” replied Von
Steinberg, unwilling to disclose the real cause of the accident to a
stranger, “and the Marchesa went back towards the staircase and
overbalanced herself. I made a rush, with the hope of catching her,
but I was too late to prevent her falling. It is a terrible height,
and she lighted on the marble floor at the bottom, with her head under
her. I made sure at first, that she had broken her neck. I was going
to add, ‘Thank God, it is not so,’ but I really do not know which
would be worse!”
“No! no! you must not be so despairing as all that!” replied the
other, “your wife may recover sufficiently to enjoy her life yet, and
if not--at all events you would like to say a few words to her before
she leaves you! Now, I will send you a good hospital nurse at
once--one quite experienced in these cases--and I shall look in again
before nightfall. You are, of course, perfectly competent to look
after the case yourself, but we all like to take counsel with our
friends on such occasions. For the present then, good-bye!”
He left Von Steinberg sitting by the side of their patient, and he did
not stir thence until the nurse arrived. What strange thoughts coursed
through his mind, as he held that silent, solitary vigil!
He looked at poor Hannah, bandaged from head to foot, with the deepest
compassion. Was this to be the end of it? Was she to pay for the
indulgence of other people’s curiosity, with her life?
The poor girl looked twice as distasteful in her mutilated condition
than heretofore. Her dull, flat face had resumed its normal vacuous
expression, whilst the rosy colour had fled from her cheeks, to be
replaced by a livid, purplish hue. Her large, coarse hands lay outside
the coverlet, and were discoloured and bruised, whilst her beautiful
eyes--her sole point of attraction--were closed, and left her rugged
features without expression.
Yet in Von Steinberg’s sight, she appeared more interesting now than
she had done for a long time past. He gently raised her swollen hand
and held it between his warm palms. How cold and heavy and sodden it
felt, almost as if she were already a corpse. The livid face did not
repulse him, as it had done when Leonora’s evil spirit animated it! It
awoke no feeling in his breast but pity for a young life so spoilt and
mis-used for the sake of others. He resolved that if she recovered he
would take her away to some place far from London, and the
inquisitiveness of strangers, and see if he could not contrive to let
her pass the remainder of her life in peace and quietness, as Hannah
Stubbs, ignorant and uncouth perhaps, but refreshingly simple and
pure, after the experience he had lately had with her.
The time passed on, but the Baron still kept his place by the bedside.
The servants came up to announce that his dinner was ready, but he
declined to partake of it--the housekeeper begged her master to let
her take his place if only for a few minutes, but he shook his head
and told her to leave him to himself. The dusk deepened and they
offered him lights--he said he preferred to sit in the dark till the
nurse arrived. So the door was closed and he remained there by
himself, musing sadly on the events of the day.
Suddenly, when he had spent some fifteen or twenty minutes in these
reflections, not knowing how time went, he mechanically raised his
eyes, and perceived, standing at the foot of the bed, the most
beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her unbound hair, black as the
raven’s wing, fell in thick masses below her waist--her large luminous
eyes glowed like two fires--her white arms and hands were stretched
towards him--whilst her gaze was wistful and melancholy. He stared at
her in return, wondering who she could be, and whence she had come.
Gradually, as he was looking at her, and just about to speak, he saw
the melancholy look on her face change to a bewitching smile, the eyes
sparkled like diamonds, the features assumed an arch expression--she
changed from an angel to a devil--_it was Leonora!_ Von Steinberg felt
murderous--had she been mortal, he would have killed her!
“What are you here for?” he exclaimed. “Have you come to gloat over
your cruel work? Get out of my sight, I command you, and never dare to
trouble her or me again!”
Leonora gave her mocking smile as answer. The Baron felt in despair.
“God Almighty!” he cried, clasping his hands and looking upwards,
“deliver me and mine from the power of this mocking devil!”
As he pronounced the words, with all the fervour of which his soul was
capable, the Spirit gave a shriek, and flew like lightning down the
stairs. The sound was heard all over the house, and the housekeeper
appeared again to inquire if her ladyship had stirred.
“No! Mrs. Marston,” replied the Baron, sorrowfully, “she lies in
exactly the same state. I am beginning to give up all hope!”
“O! don’t say that, Baron! Whilst there’s life, you know, there’s
always hope! But who was it, then, that screamed just now?”
“Screamed!” he echoed, “did you hear a scream?”
“Dear me, yes! we all heard it! I quite thought it was her ladyship
coming to!”
“And did you meet anybody on the stairs?” asked Von Steinberg, with
interest.
“_Meet anybody!_ why, no! Baron! they’re all of them below, and I have
given particular orders that they don’t stir, without my permission,
lest they should disturb her ladyship. But there’s the bell. I
shouldn’t wonder if that was the nurse! I’ll go and see!”
It proved to be the nurse, and Mrs. Marston returned with her to the
bedroom. The new-comer regarded her patient in silence. It was not her
business to pass an opinion of any kind, but an acute observer might
have read from the expression of her eyes, that she had not much hope
of a favourable ending to the case. As soon as she had taken over
charge, Von Steinberg retired to his own room, leaving strict orders
that he was to be called, if there was the slightest change.
His head was confused and dizzy--his heart alternately burning with
indignation and sorrow--he felt as if he was the greatest sinner that
had ever breathed.
He could not rest, but spent the evening pacing up and down the room,
trying to think of some compensation for the unintentional wrong he
had done. The surgeon came at midnight, and pronounced that there was
no change in the Marchesa’s condition--gave a few directions to the
nurse--and promised to visit his patient again on the morrow. Von
Steinberg gave another look at the pale, uninteresting face that had
almost become dear to him--pressed the lifeless hand--and cautioned
the attendant to be sure and call him if necessary.
At about four in the morning, she tapped at his door.
“If you please, Baron, the lady has spoken, and seems to be looking
for some one, but I’m afraid she is not yet in her right mind--a
little light-headed, I mean, but you’d better come and see her.”
Von Steinberg hurried on his clothes and hastened to Hannah’s bedside.
Her eyes were open, and roving round the room in a strange, mystified
manner, but when she caught sight of the Baron, she recognised him at
once and gave a pitiful smile for welcome.
“Lor! Doctor, ’ave they sent for you? I’m sure I dunno what ’ave come
to me, but I feels so bad--as if I was broke all over. Why did you
bring me ’ere? Be it a horspital? And do the Professor know? I should
like to see the Professor, Doctor, for I feel _that_ bad, and ’e was
very good to me!”
“Hush, Hannah! Hush! my dear!” said Von Steinberg, quickly, noting the
bewildered look of the nurse at hearing a Marchioness talk in so
uneducated a manner, “you shall hear everything when you are a little
stronger! Yes! you have met with a bad accident, my dear, and I am
afraid you will have to remain quiet for a few days, but you will get
all right, if you will be patient. Here is your nurse, who will pay
you every attention, and make you well as soon as she can, and I am
here, too, to look after you!”
Hannah regarded him with the limp, stolid expression which he
remembered so well of old, as if she were trying to follow the sense
of what he said to her, without the capability of doing so.
“But where’s the Professor--my ’usband, you know! I wants to see ’im,
’e may be vexed ’cos I said I would get ’im a nice little
supper--tasty, what he likes--and if I don’t get back in time, he
won’t ’ave none.”
“Hannah! Ricardo cannot come to you just now! You must believe what I
tell you! Nurse! have you any beef-tea ready? Give her a teaspoonful
with a little brandy in it. She is growing faint.”
“O! I haches all hover!” groaned poor Hannah, as the weak tears oozed
from her eyes with the pain she was enduring, “I shan’t be able to get
the Professor’s meals, not for days and days, and ’e _will_ be sorry
when ’e ears I’m in the horspital. Was I run over, Doctor? I feels
like it! just as if a great cart wheel ’ad gone right hover me, and
crushed all my bones! O! it’s hagony!”
“I know it must be, poor child, but we are doing all we can to relieve
you! Here! drink this!” said Von Steinberg, as he held the broth, into
which he had dropped some sedative, to her lips, and stood by her,
until she had dropped off into a moaning slumber.
In the morning, after the surgeon’s examination, the Baron anticipated
his dictum.
“You need not attempt to buoy me up with false hopes,” he said, “for I
can see the truth for myself. She will not get over it!”
“I fear not! She has a wonderful constitution--the strength of a
lion--but there are internal injuries, and mortification has
commenced, and a few hours (say twenty-four), must see it terminated.
I cannot give you any hope!”
“Thank you for being candid! It is best to know the worst at once! I
suppose we may give her anything she can take!”
“Just so, but I should advise the use of soporifics if great pain
comes on, as it must, I fear, do!”
The men shook hands, and the Baron returned to Hannah’s side. At all
events, he thought, she should not accuse him of inattention now. He
found her again awake and restless, with bright feverish eyes and an
anxious look on her features.
“Doctor!” she gasped, as soon as he appeared, “I shan’t get over
this--I feel it! There’s a great fire inside of me, and my ’ead keeps
going round. I’ve got my death some’ow, I know. And I must see my pore
mother afore I dies!”
“Your _mother_, Hannah!” cried Von Steinberg, aghast.
“O! yes, Doctor, please!” replied the girl, weakly sobbing, “’cos she
was very good to me, afore I took up with devils and things. She
couldn’t abide woices nor shadders, couldn’t mother, and I was a bad
gal, I feels it now, to go agen ’er! It cut me to the ’eart, when we
parted so cruel, and if the Professor ’adn’t stood my friend, I dunno
what I _should_ ’ave done! And Joe too--my young man as was--he turned
me off along of the same thing, and I dessay ’e was right, but I loved
’im true, Doctor--I told the Sig-nor so--and I should like to say
good-bye to ’im also since I’m a’going!”
“But, Hannah, you must not talk like that! You’re in great pain, I
know, but we will pull you through yet--see if we don’t!”
“No! you won’t,” replied the girl, shaking her head; “there’s a summat
in my stummick, as tells me I shan’t never walk out of this ’ere bed.
And so, if I could see my pore mother once more, Doctor, and--and--my
young man, if so be ’e ain’t married another yet--it would make me
easier than anythink else!”
“Then you shall see them, if it is in my power,” said Von Steinberg,
as he rose to leave her.
“And the Professor, too, Doctor--my pore old ’usband,” added Hannah.
“’E’ll miss me a bit, won’t ’e, cos we was always sich good
friends--’e and I,--always sich good friends!” murmured the dying
girl, in a faint voice.
Commending her to the care of the nurse, the Baron did what he
considered was the last and kindest duty he could perform towards her,
and that was to go down with all haste to Settlefield, and if possible
bring her people up to London to see her once more.
He used the utmost expedition in accomplishing his errand, but it was
some hours before he reached the village, and then it was to find the
little cottage in darkness and mourning--Mrs. Stubbs having died the
day before.
When the widower heard the errand on which Von Steinberg had come, he
expressed a sort of rough regret at his daughter’s hopeless condition,
but he did not volunteer to accompany him back to Town.
“You see, Sir, it’s loike this,” he argued, “the missus she would ’ave
been very glad to see our Hannah afore she died, but it was not to be,
and she lays dead in that theer room, and ’ave lef’ me with hall these
childer on my ’ands, which I can’t leave ’em, not for Hannah, nor no
one. You must please to tell ’er with my dooty as it is so, and
p’r’aps when she’s strong and ’earty agen, she’ll remember her pore
father and ’ow ’e ’as to work to maintain ’er brothers and sisters,
and she rolling in riches, as you may say.”
“But she will _never_ be strong and hearty again,” exclaimed Von
Steinberg, impatiently. “I tell you that my poor wife is dying. She
cannot last more than four-and-twenty hours!”
“Well! I couldn’t go so soon, if I wanted ever so,” replied the man.
“Theer’s my lawful wife a’laying dead in that theer room, and I
wouldn’t leave the ’ouse whilst she’s in it, not for a ’undred
darters, be they whom they may!”
“Very well, then, it is of no use my staying here,” said the Baron,
“but I thought you would have had a little more heart!”
“Our Hannah haven’t been sich a perticular good darter to us, Sir,
arter all, you know! She wouldn’t give up them devils and things, as
near broke ’er pore mother’s ’eart, and when she was married to rale
gentlemen like Mr. Ricardo and yerself, she never come anigh us, nor
sent us a word for years--not till she sent them twenty pounds, which
I’m sure another little sum like that larst, would come in very
convenient just now!”
Karl von Steinberg was too much irritated by his refusal to visit his
dying child, to feel very liberally inclined towards the cold-hearted
old grumbler just then.
“I cannot stay to hear any more of your troubles now,” he said, “for I
must return to the side of my poor wife. By and by, perhaps, when I
have time to think, I may help you a little, for her sake!”
He tore back to London as quickly as he could, half expecting to find
that Hannah had left _him_ also, without a last good-bye. But she was
still alive, and in less pain--the cruel mortification had done its
work--her spirit was holding on to earth by a single thread.
As he entered her room, he found both the nurse and housekeeper there,
whilst Hannah was sitting up in bed, notwithstanding her splints and
bandages, with a bright look of expectation on her face. He was just
about to try and soothe her last moments with some pleasing fiction of
her mother coming to her soon, when he was startled by hearing her
exclaim, as she stretched out her arms towards the foot of the bed,
“O! mother! mother! I know’d as you’d forgive me at the larst! Ah! it
_is_ good to see you, mother, arter all these years! But don’tee cry!
I shall soon be well again, now you’ve come to fetch me, and forgive
me for them devils and things, and take me ’ome to live along of you!”
The plain face glowed with delighted anticipation--the swollen hands
were stretched out with rapture--the eyes, lovely to the last, beamed
upon the apparition that stood before her, and the spirit of Hannah
Stubbs, with the most gratifying result of all her mediumship, flew
into the arms of her waiting mother, whilst her body fell back
lifeless on the pillows. She had passed away in total ignorance of all
that had befallen her since she had left her mother’s care for that of
Ricardo--she did not know that she had ever been obsessed by Leonora,
or that her hand had committed a murder, or that she had been
unfaithful, or insolent, or overbearing! Poor ignorant, innocent
Hannah Stubbs! Stupid, plain and uninteresting, as she came from His
hand, she returned to her Creator, to be beautified and refined and
enlightened, under the process of her Father’s love!
THE END.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The Bernhard Tauchnitz (Leipzig, 1896) edition was consulted for the
changes listed below.
Obsolete and inconsistent spellings (e.g. negociations, laughing
stock/laughing-stock, needlework/needle-work, etc.) have been
preserved.
Alterations to the text:
Add ToC.
Punctuation: fix some quotation mark pairings/nestings.
[Chapter I]
Change “he and the Sig-nor will be _closetted_ for hours together” to
_closeted_.
[Chapter III]
“Is she very stupid. very clumsy, very impertinent?” change period to
a comma.
(“It ain’t that, Sir,” she said, shaking her head, “In course I was)
change the last comma to a period.
[Chapter IV]
“she must shake like an aspen leaf I found ’er in the kitchen” add
period after _leaf_.
[Chapter V]
Change “you were to see Doctor Steinberg again _tonight_?” to
_to-night_.
[Chapter VI]
“that it does not all proceed from giving her _medecine_!” to
_medicine_.
“they found themselves once more _closetted_ with Hannah Stubbs” to
_closeted_.
[Chapter VII]
(don’t take ’eed to your ways,” retorted his irate adversary, “Me and)
change the last comma to a period.
“doings of Satan--and no more will. this young man ’ere!” delete the
period.
[Chapter VIII]
“If he had _announccd_ that he intended to murder Hannah Stubbs” to
_announced_.
[Chapter IX]
“continue to call her Hannah _has_ usual” to _as_.
[Chapter XII]
“when pressed, as late as ten o’clock at night, Now! go on with”
change the second comma to a period.
“and ’ave you left them for good. and where are you living now?”
change the period to a comma.
[Chapter XIII]
“Karl _van_ Steinberg alone remaining behind for a few minutes” to
_von_.
“if her condition were normal. or if they could trace any” change
the period to a comma.
[Chapter XIV]
(but English is so hard,” she added, pathetically,) change the third
comma to a period.
[Chapter XV]
“against her; the would accept any explanation she chose to child
give--she was only...” change _the_ to _she_ and delete _child_.
(“O! don’t speak of such a thing pray! I shouldn’t) add comma after
_thing_.
[Chapter XVI]
“but all this talk about Spiritualism is only got up, for want of
a better excitement.” delete the comma.
[Chapter XVII]
“I lost her in so cruelly sudden a manner Only four days ill” add
period after _manner_.
[End of text]