Mrs. Hazleton fancied herself in high good luck; for just as she was
passing through the door into the hall, Lady Hastings' maid crossed
and made her a curtsey. Mrs. Hazleton beckoned her up, saying in a
quiet, easy, every-day tone, "I suppose your lady is awake by this
time?"
"No, madam," replied the maid, "she is asleep still. She did not take
her nap as early as usual to-day; for Mistress Emily was with her, and
my lady would not go to sleep till she went out to take a walk."
Mrs. Hazleton was somewhat alarmed at this intelligence; for she had
not much confidence in her good friend's discretion. "How is Miss
Emily?" she said in a tender tone. "She seemed very sad and low when
last I saw her."
"She is just the same, Madam," replied the maid. "She did not seem
very cheerful when she went out, and has been crying a good deal
to-day."
Mrs. Hazleton was better satisfied, and paused for an instant to
think; but the maid interrupted her cogitations by saying--"I think I
may wake my lady now, if you please to come up, Madam."
"Oh, dear, no," replied Mrs. Hazleton. "Do not wake her. I will go in
quietly and sit with her till she wakes naturally. It is a pity to
deprive her of one moment's calm sleep. You needn't come, you needn't
come. I will ring for you when your mistress wakes;" and she quietly
ascended the stairs, though the maid offered some civil remonstrances
to her undertaking the task of watching by her sleeping mistress.
The most careful affection could not have prompted greater precautions
in opening the door of the sick lady's chamber, than those which were
taken by Mrs. Hazleton. It was a good solid door, however, well
seasoned, and well hung, and moved upon its hinges without noise. She
closed it with the same care, and then with a soft tread glided up to
the side of the bed.
Lady Hastings was sleeping profoundly and quietly; and as she lay in
an attitude of easy grace, a shadow of her youthful beauty seemed to
have returned, and all the traces of after cares and anxiety were
banished for the time. On the table, near the bed-head, stood the vial
of medicine, with the glass and spoon; and Mrs. Hazleton eyed it for a
moment or two without touching it. She saw that she had hit the color
exactly; but the quantity in that vial, and the one she had with her,
was somewhat different. She felt puzzled and doubtful. She asked
herself--"Would the difference be discovered when the time came for
giving her the medicine?" and a certain degree of trepidation seized
her. But she was bold, and said to herself--"They will never see it.
They suspect nothing. They will never see it." She took the vial from
her pocket, and held it for an instant or two in her hand. Again a
doubt and hesitation took possession of her. She gazed at the sleeper
with a haggard eye. The face was so calm, so sweet, so gentle in
expression, that the pleasant look perhaps did move her a little with
remorse. The voice within said again, and again, "Forbear!" She tried
to deafen herself against it, or to fill the ear of conscience with
delusive sounds. "She is dying," she said--"She will die--she cannot
recover. It is but taking away a few short hours, in order to stop
that fatal marriage, which shall never be. I am becoming a fool--a
weak irresolute fool."
Just as she thus thought, Lady Hastings moved uneasily, as if to wake
from her slumber. That moment was decisive. With a hurried hand, and
quick as light, Mrs. Hazleton changed the two vials, and concealed the
one which she had taken away.
Then it was, probably for the first time, that all the awful
consequences of the deed, for time and for eternity, flashed upon her.
The scales fell from her eyes: no longer passion, or mortified vanity,
or irritated pride, or disappointed love, distorted the objects or
concealed their forms. She stood there consciously a murderer. She
trembled in every limb; and, unable to support herself, sunk down in
the chair that stood near. Had Lady Hastings slept on, Mrs. Hazleton
would have been saved; for her impulse was immediately to reverse the
very act she had done--all would have been saved--all to whom that act
brought wretchedness. But the movement of the chair--the sound
of the vial touching the marble table--the rustle of the thick
silk--dispelled what remained of slumber, and Lady Hastings opened her
eyes drowsily, and looked round. At the very moment she would have
given worlds to recall it. The deed became irrevocable. The barrier of
Fate fell: it was amongst the things done; it was written in the book
of God as a great crime committed. Nothing remained but to insure,
that the end she aimed at would be obtained; that the evil
consequences, in this world at least, should be averted from herself.
There was a terrible struggle to recover her self-command--a wrestling
of the spirit--against the turbulent and fierce emotions which shook
the body. She was still much agitated when Lady Hastings recognized
her and began to speak; but her determination was taken to obtain the
utmost that she could from the act she had committed--to have the full
price of her crime. She was no Judas Iscariot, to be content with the
thirty pieces of silver for the innocent blood, and then hang herself
in despair. Oh no! She had sold her own soul, and she would have its
price.
But yet, as I have said, the struggle was terrible, and lasted longer
than usual with her.
"Dear me, my kind friend, is that you?" said Lady Hastings. "Have you
been here long? I did not hear you come in."
Her words, and her tone, were gentle and affectionate. All the
coldness and the sharpness of the preceding day seemed to have passed
away, and to have been forgotten; but words and tone were equally
jarring to the feelings of Mrs. Hazleton. The sharpest language, the
most angry manner, would have been a relief to her. They would have
afforded her some sort of strength--some sort of support.
It is painful enough to hear sweet music when we are very sad. I have
known it rise almost to agony; but the tones of friendship and regard,
of gentleness and tender kindness, to the ear of hatred and malice,
must be more terrible still.
"I have been here but a moment," said Mrs. Hazleton, gloomily--almost
peevishly. "I suppose it was my coming in woke you; but I am sure I
made as little noise as possible."
"Why, what is the matter?" said Lady Hastings. "You look quite pale
and agitated, and you speak quite crossly."
"Your sudden waking startled me," said Mrs. Hazleton; "and, besides,
you looked so ill, my dear friend. I almost thought you were dead till
you began to move."
There was malice in the sentence, simple as it seemed, and it had its
effect. Nervous, hypochondriac, Lady Hastings was frightened at the
mere sound, and her heart beat strangely at the very thought of being
supposed dead. It seemed to her to augur that she was very ill; that
she was much worse than her friends allowed her to believe; that they
anticipated her speedy dissolution, and she remained silent and sad
for several minutes, giving Mrs. Hazleton time to recover herself
completely. She was a little piqued too at the abruptness of Mrs.
Hazleton's manner. Neither the speech, nor the mode, nor the speaker,
pleased her; and she replied at length--"Nevertheless, I feel a good
deal better to-day. I have slept well for, I dare say, a couple of
hours; and my dear child Emily has been with me all the morning. I
must say she bears opposition and contradiction very sweetly."
She knew that would not please Mrs. Hazleton, and she laid some
emphasis on the words by way of retaliation. It was petty, but it was
quite in her character. "Now I think of it," she added, "you promised
to tell me what you discovered in regard to Marlow's relationship to
Lord Launceston. I find--but never mind. Tell me what you have found
out."
Mrs. Hazleton hesitated. The first impulse was to tell a lie--to
assert that Marlow was not the old earl's heir; but there was
something in Lady Hastings' manner which made her suspect that she had
received more certain information, and she made up her mind to speak
the truth.
"It is very true," she said; "Mr. Marlow is the old lord's nearest
male relation, and heir to his title. I suspect," she added with a
silly sounding laugh, "you have found this out yourself, my dear
friend, and have made your peace with Emily, by withdrawing your
opposition to her marriage."
Her heart was very bitter at that moment; for she really did suspect
all that she said. The idea presented itself to her mind (producing a
feeling of fierce disappointment), of all her efforts being rendered
fruitless, her dark schemes frustrated, her cunning contrivances
without effect, at the very moment when the crime, by which she
proposed to insure success, was so far consummated as to be beyond
recall. She was relieved on that score in a moment.
"Oh dear no," cried Lady Hastings. "I promised you, my dear friend,
that I would say nothing till I saw you, and I have said nothing
either to my husband or Emily. But I will of course now tell her all
immediately, and I do confess it will give me greater satisfaction
than any act of my whole life, to withdraw the opposition to her
marriage which has made her so miserable, and to bid her be happy with
the man of her own choice--an excellent good young man he is too. He
has been laboring, I find, for the last fortnight or three weeks,
night and day, in our service, and has detected the horrible
conspiracy by which my husband was deprived of his rights and
property. I shall tell Emily, with great joy, as soon as ever she
comes back, that were it for nothing but this zeal in our cause, I
would receive him joyfully as my son-in-law."
"You had better wait till to-morrow morning," said Mrs. Hazleton, in a
cold but significant tone.
"Oh dear no," said Lady Hastings, somewhat petulantly, "I have waited
quite long enough--perhaps too long. You surely would not have me
protract my child's anxiety and sorrow unnecessarily. No, I will tell
her the moment she returns. She read me part of a letter from Marlow
to-day, which shows me that he has lost no time in seeking to serve us
and make us happy, and I will lose no time in making my child and him
happy also."
"As you please," replied Mrs. Hazleton; "I only thought that in this
changeable world, there are so many unexpected things occurring
between one day and another, it might be well for you to pause and
consider a little--in order, I mean, that after-thought may not show
you reason to withdraw your consent, as you now withdraw your
objection."
"My consent once given, shall never be withdrawn," replied Lady
Hastings, in a determined tone.
Mrs. Hazleton looked at the vial by the bedside, and then at her
watch. "You had better avoid all agitation," she said, "and at all
events before you speak with Emily, take a dose of the medicine, which
Short tells me he has given you to soothe and calm your spirits--shall
I give you one now?"
"No, I thank you," replied Lady Hastings, briefly; "not at present."
"Is it not the time?" said Mrs. Hazleton, looking at her watch again;
"the good man told me you were to take it very regularly."
"But he told me," replied Lady Hastings, "that nobody was to give it
to me but Emily, and she will be back at the right time, I am sure.
What o'clock is it?"
"Past five," replied Mrs. Hazleton, advancing the hour a little.
"Then it wants three quarters of an hour to the time," said Lady
Hastings, "and Emily has only gone to take a walk. We are expecting
Marlow to-night, so she will not go far I am sure."
Mrs. Hazleton fell into profound thought. In proposing to give Lady
Hastings the portion herself, she had deviated a little from her
original plan. She had intended all along, that the mortal draught
should be administered by the hand of Emily, and she had only been
tempted to depart from that purpose by the fear of Lady Hastings
withdrawing her opposition to her daughter's marriage with Marlow
before the deed was fully accomplished. There was no help for it,
however. She was obliged to take her chance of the result; and while
she mused at that moment, vague notions--what shall I call them?--not
exactly schemes or purposes, but rather dreams of turning suspicion
upon Emily herself, of making men believe--suspect, even if they could
not prove--that the daughter knowingly deprived the mother of life,
crossed her imagination. She meditated rather longer than was quite
decorous, and then suddenly recollecting herself she said, "By the
way, has Emily yet condescended to particularize her astounding
charges against your poor friend? I am really anxious to hear them,
and although I confess that the matter has afforded me some amusement,
it has brought painful feelings and doubts with it too: I have
sometimes fancied, my dear friend, that there is a slight aberration
in your poor Emily's mind, and I can account for her conduct in this
instance by no other mode. You know her grandfather, Sir John, had
moments when he was hardly sane. I have heard your own good father
declare upon one occasion, that Sir John was as mad as a lunatic. Tell
me then, has Emily brought forward any proofs, or alluded to these
accusations since I saw you? You said she would explain all in a few
hours."
"She has not as yet explained all," replied Lady Hastings, "but I
cannot deny that she has alluded to the charges, and repeated them all
distinctly. She said that the delay had been rather longer than she
expected; but that as soon as Mr. Dixwell came, every thing should be
told."
"The suspense is unpleasant," said Mrs. Hazleton, somewhat
sarcastically; "I trust the young lady does not play with the feelings
of her lover as she does with those of her friends, otherwise I should
pity Marlow."
Lady Hastings was a good deal nettled. "I do not think he much
deserves your pity," she replied; "and besides, I think he is quite
satisfied with Emily's conduct, as I am also. I am quite confident she
has good reason for what she says, my dear Madam--not that I mean to
assert that the charges are true, by any means--she may be mistaken,
you know--she may be misinformed--but that she brings them in good
faith, and fully believes that she can prove them distinctly, I do not
for a moment doubt. If she is wrong, nobody will be more grieved, or
more ready to make atonement than herself; but whether she is right or
wrong, remains to be proved."
"All that I have to request then is," said Mrs. Hazleton, "that you
will be kind enough to let me know, immediately you are yourself
informed, what are the specific charges, and upon what grounds they
rest. That they must be false, I know; and therefore I shall give
myself no uneasiness about them. All I regret is, that you should be
troubled about what must be frivolous and absurd. Nevertheless, I must
beg you to let me hear immediately."
"Sir Philip will do that," replied Lady Hastings, coldly. "If Emily is
right in her views, the matter will require the intervention of a man.
It will be too serious for a woman to deal with."
"Oh, very well," said Mrs. Hazleton, with an air of offended dignity.
"Good morning, my dear Lady;" and she quitted the room.
She paused upon the broad staircase for two or three minutes, leaning
upon the balustrade in deep thought; but when she descended to the
hall, she asked a servant who stood there if Mistress Emily had
returned. The man replied in the negative, and she then inquired for
Sir Philip, asking to see him.
The servant said he was in his library, and proceeded to announce her.
She followed him so closely as to enter the room almost at the same
moment, and beheld Sir Philip Hastings, with his head leaning on his
hand, sitting at the table and gazing earnestly down upon it. There
was a book before him, but it was closed.
"I beg pardon for intruding, my dear sir," said Mrs. Hazleton, "but I
wished to ask if you know where Emily is. I want to speak with her."
"I know nothing about her," said Sir Philip, abruptly; and then
muttered to himself, "would I knew more."
"I thought I saw her in the fields as I came," said Mrs. Hazleton,
"gathering flowers and herbs--she is fond of botany, I believe."
"I know not," said Sir Philip, recovering himself a little. "Pray be
seated, Madam--I have not attended much to her studies lately."
"Thank you, I must go," said Mrs. Hazleton. "Perhaps I shall meet her
as I drive along. Do not let me interrupt you, do not let me interrupt
you;" and she quietly quitted the room.
"Gathering herbs!" said Sir Philip Hastings, "what new whim is this?"