Page:Once a Week Jun to Dec 1864.pdf/61

 46 there’s not the least doubt some one was there, concealing himself, and I and John have privately urged it upon the police never to cease their search after him. That man was the guilty agent.”

“You think so?” cried Mrs. Stephen, after an awe-struck pause.

“I feel sure of it. No reasonable being can entertain a doubt of it. But for this mistaken idea that people have picked up—that the mistake was mine in mixing the sleeping draught—there would not be two opinions upon it in the town. The only point I cannot understand, is—Carlton’s having smelt the poison in the draught when it was delivered; but I can only come to the conclusion that Carlton was mistaken, unaccountable as it seems for him to have fancied a smell where no smell was.”

“How full of mystery it all sounds!”

“The affair is a mystery altogether; it’s nothing but mystery from beginning to end. Of course the conclusion drawn is—and the coroner was the first to draw it—that that man was the ill-fated young lady’s husband, stolen into the house for the purpose of deliberately destroying her. If so, we may rest satisfied that it will be cleared up sometime, for murder is safe to come out, sooner or later.”

As Stephen Grey concluded the last words he quitted the room. Mrs. Grey approached her son.

“My dear, you hear what your papa says. How is it possible that you can suffer your suspicions to stray to any other than that concealed man?”

The boy turned, and wound his mother’s arm about him as he answered, his frank, earnest eyes lifted trustingly to hers.

“I am just puzzled to death over it, mother mine. I don’t feel a doubt that some wicked fellow was there; I can’t doubt it; and of course ho was not there for good. Still, I cannot overget that impression of falseness in Mr. Carlton. There is such a thing as bribery, you know.”

“Bribery!” repeated Mrs. Grey, not understanding his drift.

“If Carlton did not commit the ill himself, he may be keeping the counsel of that man who did. Mother dear, don’t take your arm from me in anger. I can’t drive the feeling away from me. Mr. Carlton may not have been the actual culprit; but, that he knows more of the matter than he suffers to appear, I am as certain of as that I am in life.”

And Mrs. Stephen Grey shivered within her as she listened to the words, terrified for the consequences should they come to be overheard.

“Frederick, this is one of your crotchets. Be still; be still!”

languidly in her easy chair one bright afternoon, was Lady Jane Chesney. The reaction of the passionate excitement, arising from the blow dealt out to her so suddenly, had come, and she felt utterly weary both in mind and body. Some little bustle and talking outside was heard, as if a visitor had entered, and then the room door opened. There stood Laura Carlton.

“Well, Jane! I suppose I may dare to come in?”

She spoke in a half laughing, half deprecating tone, and looked out daringly at Jane from her dazzling beauty. A damask colour shone in her cheek, a brilliant light in her eye. She wore a rich silk dress with brocaded flounces, and a white lace bonnet all gossamer and prettiness. Jane retained her hand as she gazed at her.

“You are happy, Laura?”

“Oh, so happy!” was the echoed answer. “But I want to be reconciled to you all. Papa is dreadfully obstinate when he is crossed, I know that, but he need not hold out so long. And you, Jane, to have been here going on for a fortnight and not to have taken notice of me!”

“I have been ill,” said Jane.

“Oh I daresay! I suppose the fact is, papa forbade you to call at my house or to receive me here.”

“No, he did not. But let us come to a thorough understanding at once, Laura, as you are here: it may spare trouble to both of us; perhaps some heart-burning. I must decline, myself, to visit at your house. I will receive you here with pleasure, and be happy to see you whenever you like to come: but I cannot receive Mr. Carlton.”

“Why will you not visit at my house?”

“Because it is Mr. Carlton’s. I would prefer not to meet him—anywhere.”

Laura’s resentment bubbled up. “Is your prejudice against Mr. Carlton to last for ever?”

“I cannot say. I confess that it is strong against him at present. I never liked him, Laura; and his underhand conduct with regard to you has not tended to soften the dislike. I cannot extend my hand in greeting to Mr. Carlton. It is altogether better that we should not meet. Like him, I never can.”

“And never will, so long as you persist in shutting yourself out from all intercourse with him,” retorted Laura. “What! would it hurt you, Jane, to meet my husband?”