THE OPIATE.
It was about seven o'clock in the evening when Dr. Lascelles returned to
Lady Hatfield's house on Piccadilly Hill.
Miss Mordaunt, whom he encountered in the drawing-room, informed him
that Georgiana had become more composed and tranquil since she had taken
the medicine which he had prescribed for her, and that she had requested
to be left alone, as she experienced an inclination to sleep.
"It is nevertheless necessary that I should see her," said the
physician.
Julia accordingly hastened to her friend's apartment, and speedily
returned with the information that Lady Hatfield was not yet asleep, and
that the doctor might walk up.
Lascelles immediately availed himself of this permission; but he
found—as indeed he had fully anticipated—that his patient was rapidly
yielding to the invincible drowsiness produced by the opiatic medicine
which he had prescribed for her.
He seated himself by the bed-side, asked her a few ordinary questions,
and then suffered her to fall undisturbed into slumber.
At length she slept profoundly.
A smile of satisfaction played for a moment upon the lips of the
physician; but it yielded to a sombre cloud which almost immediately
succeeded it—for a powerful struggle now suddenly arose in the breast of
Dr. Lascelles.
In his ardent devotion to the science which he professed, he longed to
satisfy himself on certain points at present admitting of doubt and
involved in uncertainty: and, on the other hand, he hesitated at the
accomplishment of a deed which he could not help regarding as a gross
abuse of his privileges as a medical man. By virtue of the most sacred
confidence he was admitted to the bed-chamber of his female patient; and
he shrank from exercising that right in an illegitimate way.
Then, again, he reasoned to himself that if he were enabled to ascertain
beyond all doubt that no physical cause induced Lady Hatfield to shrink
from marriage, he must fall back upon the theory that she had become
subject to certain monomaniac notions which influenced her mind to her
own unhappiness; and he at length persuaded himself that he should be
acting for her best interests, were he to put into execution the project
which he had already formed.
Such an opinion, operating upon a man who possessed but few of the
delicate and refined feelings of our nature, and who was ever ready to
sacrifice all considerations to the cause of the medical science,
speedily banished hesitation.
Having convinced himself that Georgiana slept so profoundly that there
was no chance of awaking her, he locked the door, and again approached
the bed.
And now his sacrilegious hands drew aside the snow-white dress which
covered the sleeping lady's bosom; and the treasures of that
gently-heaving breast were exposed to his view. But not a sensual
thought was thereby excited in his mind: cold and passionless, he
surveyed the beauteous spectacle only as a sculptor might measure the
proportions of a marble Venus or Diana the huntress.
And not a trace of cancer was there: no unseemly mark, nor mole, nor
scar, nor wound disfigured the glowing orbs that, rising from a broad
and ample chest, swelled laterally over the upper part of the arms.
Yet wherefore did Dr. Lascelles abruptly start? and why did his
countenance suddenly assume an expression of surprise—or rather of
mingled doubt and astonishment—as his glances wandered over the fair
bust thus exposed to his view?
Carefully and cautiously refastening the strings of the night-dress, he
now assumed the air of a man who had discovered some clue to a mystery
hitherto profoundly veiled; and unhesitatingly did he resolve to clear
up all his doubts and all his newly-awakened suspicions.
* * * * *
Five minutes afterwards Dr. Lascelles left the room, Lady Hatfield still
remaining buried in a deep slumber.
His countenance expressed surprise mingled with sorrow; and,
cold—phlegmatic though his disposition was, he could not help murmuring
to himself, "Is it possible?"
Having just looked into the drawing-room, to take leave of Miss
Mordaunt, and state that his patient was progressing as favourably as
could be expected, Dr. Lascelles returned home.
Lord Ellingham was waiting for him; and this interview the physician now
dreaded.
"Are your tidings favourable, doctor?" was the nobleman's hasty and
anxious inquiry.
"I regret, my dear Earl," answered Lascelles, "that I should have
encouraged hopes——"
"Which are doomed to experience disappointment," added Arthur bitterly.
"Oh! I might have anticipated this—unfortunate being that I am! But how
have you ascertained that your ideas of this morning are unfounded? How
have you convinced yourself that Georgiana is _not_ a prey to those
mental eccentricities which your skill might reach? Has she revealed to
you her motive for refusing—for rejecting me,—_me_ whom she professes to
love?"
"She has revealed nothing, my lord," replied the doctor solemnly. "But I
have satisfied myself that monomania and Lady Hatfield are total
strangers to each other."
"Then must I abandon all hope!" exclaimed the Earl; "for it is evident
that I am the victim of a ridiculous caprice. And yet," he added, a
sudden thought striking him, "I will see her once again. She is ill—she
is suffering—perhaps she will be pleased to behold me—and who knows——"
"Not this evening, my lord—not this evening!" cried the doctor, stopping
the nobleman who had seized his hat and was darting towards the door.
"Lady Hatfield sleeps—and she must not be disturbed."
But Lord Ellingham was too full of his new idea to pay any attention to
the physician; and he rushed from the house.