A FEARFUL MYSTERY.
The family physician, who was hurriedly summoned to the
strangely-affected child, entered the dwelling of Mr. Dainty in about
thirty minutes after the departure of Mrs. Jeckyl. He found Madeline
showing a few signs of returning animation, but not of conscious life.
Her face was still of an ashen hue, and its expression painful to look
upon. At first he asked no questions, endeavoring, by an observation of
her symptoms, to comprehend the case. He soon saw that extraordinary
causes had been at work, and that the child’s condition was one not to
be reached through ordinary treatment. After looking at her for some
minutes, and examining all the life-indications, he said, turning to
Mr. Dainty,—
“How long has she been in this state?”
“More than half an hour.”
“What produced it?”
“I am not able to answer your question,—at least, not satisfactorily.
To me her state is unaccountable.”
“Had she a fall, or a fright?” asked the physician.
“Neither. And yet her mind was seriously disturbed.”
“By what?”
“I can scarcely explain, for I am in doubt myself.”
“Perhaps your wife can answer my questions more clearly.” And the
physician addressed himself to Mrs. Dainty. But the mother was silent.
To her mind there was a deep mystery in the affair. That Madeline’s
state was, in some way, dependent upon Mrs. Jeckyl’s influence over
her, she had a vague conviction. But as to the manner and meaning of
this influence she was in total ignorance.
“Will you inform me, as briefly as possible, as to the condition of
things existing at the time this partial suspension of life took place?”
The physician addressed Mrs. Dainty.
“I think she was frightened at something said by George,” Mrs. Dainty
answered.
“What was that something?”
“He said that our governess had a snake in her bosom, and that snakes
were crawling all over her.”
The doctor looked thoughtfully upon the floor, and waited for
additional information. But Mrs. Dainty said nothing further. Little
George was standing close to the bedside. As the doctor raised his
head, his eyes rested upon the boy’s face.
“I think,” he said, as he looked at the bright-eyed child, “that you
must have seen very sharp to find serpents about Miss Harper.”
“Oh, it wasn’t Miss Harper!” replied the boy, in a quick tone: “she’s
lovely!”
“Who, then, was it? I thought Miss Harper was governess to your
children?” And the physician turned to Mrs. Dainty.
“No, sir; Miss Harper is no longer the governess of my children.”
There was a certain coldness of manner about Mrs. Dainty that was meant
to repress inquiry on this particular subject.
“I hope, madam,” said the doctor, speaking with some earnestness, and
a little severity of tone, “that you will be as unreserved as possible
in your communications. Unless I have all the information in regard to
the cause of Madeline’s illness that it is in your power to give me,
it will be impossible to prescribe intelligently, or with any hope of
reaching the case. Miss Harper, I understand, then, was not the person
to whom your little son referred as having a snake in her bosom?”
As Mrs. Dainty did not reply immediately, Uncle John spoke out in his
blunt way, and right to the purpose, saying,—
“No, it was not Miss Harper, but a wicked old hag that my niece picked
up somewhere. If I had any faith in witchcraft, I would believe that
she had laid a spell on Madeline.”
The doctor now turned to Uncle John.
“When did this new governess of whom you speak come into the family?”
“To-day.”
“Only to-day?”
“She came into the house only a few hours ago.”
“Was Madeline well this morning?”
“Perfectly.”
“This is a sudden illness, then?”
“So I understand it,” replied Uncle John. “How is it, Agnes?” And he
spoke to the sister of Madeline, who was leaning over the bed, gazing
with wet eyes upon her pallid face. “Did Madeline show any symptoms of
illness before this sudden attack?”
“She has acted strangely ever since Mrs. Jeckyl came into the house.”
“Mrs. Jeckyl!” said the physician, in a tone of surprise.
The eyes of all turned quickly to his face with looks of inquiry.
“Do you know this woman?” asked Mr. Dainty.
“I am not certain. But I think I have heard the name before.” There was
an air of evasion about the doctor.
“She is an Englishwoman,” remarked Mr. Fleetwood.
The doctor looked at Agnes, and pursued his inquiries.
“Acted strangely, you say. In what respect?”
“I can hardly explain, sir,” replied Agnes. “But I have heard tell of
birds being charmed by serpents; and the way Madeline acted toward
Mrs. Jeckyl made me think all the while of a bird and a serpent. I do
not much wonder that Georgie saw snakes in her eyes. They were the
strangest eyes I ever looked into, and made me shudder. She’s done
something dreadful to Madeline!”
“Were they alone together?” inquired the physician.
“For a little while.”
“Did Madeline seem repelled, or attracted, by this woman?”
“Both. She appeared to be drawn toward her, yet acted like one
struggling to get away. Oh, sir, it was dreadful! I never met so
terrible a woman! Her eyes shone, sometimes, like coals of fire. I was
afraid of her.”
“Did you see her put her hands on Madeline?”
“Yes, sir.”
“In what manner?”
“She held her with one hand, while with the other she smoothed her
hair.”
“Did Madeline try to get away?”
“At first she did; but after a while all her struggles ceased, and she
laid her head back against her, half shutting her eyes, and looking
like one just going to sleep.”
The doctor’s countenance assumed a still graver aspect.
“Was this woman an entire stranger?” he asked, in tones of surprise,
turning to Mrs. Dainty.
“She came highly recommended by Mrs. Ashton, as an accomplished
Englishwoman, the widow of a distinguished officer who died in the
service of the East India Company.”
“Her own story, I suppose, believed by Mrs. Ashton without evidence.
And on this slight knowledge of the woman you placed these tender,
impressible children under her control!”
And the doctor shook his head ominously.
“There has been harm done here,” he added, “beyond my skill to cure.”
“What harm?” Mrs. Dainty’s face grew suddenly as pale as the face of
her unconscious child.
“Do you not know, madam,” said the doctor, “that there are men and
women at this day who possess an evil power over the minds of those who
submit themselves to their influence, stronger than even the witch of
Endor possessed of old,—persons in mysterious league with evil spirits,
who delight through them to break down the soul’s God-given freedom and
make it the slave of their will? If this were my child, I would rather
a thousand times see her pass upward into heaven than live on here
exposed to the assaults of infernal spirits, who, in my opinion, have
gained admittance to her through this evil woman’s power!”
“Doctor,” said Mr. Fleetwood, laying his hand upon the physician’s arm
with some firmness of clasp, “no more of that, if you please! It is
neither the time nor the place!”
“I stand rebuked,” answered the doctor. “But I feel strongly on this
subject, and am apt to speak warmly.”
“Time is passing,” said Mr. Fleetwood, “and every moment is precious.
This child needs your most skilful attention. I think you understand
her case as fully as it can be understood through any further
explanation at this time. We place her in your hands. Do for her to the
utmost of your skill.”