CHAPTER XV.
Marion's walk back from Portobello was of a very different aspect fromher gay outset in the morning, and nature seemed to have suddenly goneout of tune as she gazed around, with an altered eye on the sombremassy hills with their giant shadows, throwing into mysteriousobscurity the tall ancient buildings of the doleful Canongate, whichlooked like the ghost of a departed city; and the melancholymagnificence of Holyrood reminded her of greatness in adversity, whileshe reflected that the royal houses of Stuart and of Bourbon had therefound a dismal refuge in their utmost destitution. But moreimmediately connected with herself, and more interesting still to herthoughts, though rather a sinking in poetry, was the considerationthat there her own brother had been driven by his folly andindiscretion, and that her father's family, so long respected inScotland, seemed now about to be finally extinguished in penury anddisgrace. It was a misfortune without remedy, for Marion knew thelimit of her influence with Sir Patrick to be less than nothing, andshe believed that not a living being possessed more. She had neverheard a surmise of his attachment to Clara, or deep and unconquerableas it was, she might have entertained some hope that the love ofvirtue and goodness in others, might lead to a respect for it inhimself, though none can doubt the melancholy truth, that, as feversare infectious, but health is not, so moral evil is far morecontagious than moral good.
After a hurried walk, Marion reached home in some trepidation, lestshe might be too late to dress for dinner, an offence which SirPatrick always visited with his utmost indignation; but on enteringthe house, she was alarmed and surprised to hear, from the butler,that Agnes had been seized with sudden illness very soon after herreturn from Lady Towercliffe's ball, and that she was unable to leaveher bed.
Marion flew, rather than walked up stairs, and entered her sister'sroom with the most affectionate solicitude, but great was herastonishment to find Agnes stretched almost insensible on the bed, andevidently in an agony of suffering, pale, cold, and languid. Herspirits were evidently in the lowest depression, and, for the firsttime in her life, she seemed to consider herself a mere mortal likeother people.
Dixon, in the mean time, watched over the invalid with an air ofexcessive, almost exaggerated solicitude, emitting a series of veryostentatious sighs, while she kept her place close beside the bed, soas to exclude every one else, and made eager signs to Marion when sheentered, to leave the room without speaking, and not approach hersister, or agitate her in any way.
Without heeding any such signals, however, Marion approached thebed-side with noiseless steps, and quietly assuming the place whichhad been occupied by Dixon, gently took hold of Agnes' hand, whichfelt so cold and clammy, that she started with a degree of alarm,greatly increased by the sight of the invalid's altered aspect.
"Have you called in a doctor?" said she, anxiously. "Surely Patrickdoes not know how very ill you are, Agnes?"
"Dixon says he thought nothing of it, and recommended me to put off myillness till after the assembly: unfeeling wretch! when I shallperhaps never recover. Since then he is gone hunting," added Agnes,with a peevish look at Marion, as if it were her fault, "and he willnot return home before night!"
"Who said Patrick had gone out hunting? It is not the case. I met himin the passage, and he had been told you complained only of a slightnervous headache!" said Marion, glancing at Dixon, whose countenancewore an expression so sinister and peculiar, that Marion felt thecolor rush to her face with surprise, but turned away instantly toconceal how much she had been startled by it, though determinedprivately to watch Dixon's face more narrowly than before, whilefeeling a vague apprehension of she knew not what.
"Miss Dunbar must be kept quiet," observed Dixon, in a harsh sulkyvoice, "she ought not to speak. It only fatigues her, and she shouldsee no one!"
"Who ordered that?" asked Marion with a scrutinizing look at theabigail's averted face. "I shall remain here, Dixon, therefore leavethe room yourself at present."
While she angrily and slowly prepared to obey this authoritativecommand, Agnes turned her pallid face towards Marion, saying, in afaint voice, and with a look of extreme lassitude,
"Dixon says I have been in a delirium. She is probably right, for Icould have been certain that when the shutters were closed, I heard avoice in the farthest corner of my room. It sounded like mutteredcurses, and a dark figure crossed the fire-place. Could it be a dream?I was too weak to move--my hand trembled, so that I could not reachthe bell, but surely I heard a low, strange, unearthly laugh. It washorrible! but a moment afterwards Dixon appeared, and she says I wasin a deep sleep, evidently dreaming some horrible dream!"
"It is impossible sometimes to distinguish between a dream and areality, especially when we are ill," said Marion soothingly, for shewas alarmed at the look of terror and perplexity with which Agnesmentioned these circumstances, and privately determined, as soon aspossible, to communicate on the subject with Sir Patrick. "I must beallowed, Agnes, to sleep in your room to-night."
"Dixon maintains that this is all mere fatigue, after the excitementof Lady Towercliffe's, but I was never yet wearied with beingflattered and admired! This morning, however, strange to say, myspirits are dreadfully depressed. Nothing gives me pleasure. I canscarcely imagine any earthly thing that could interest me. Though theball turned out pleasanter than any ball ever was before, and CaptainDe Crespigny seemed, as usual, the most lover-like of men, yet thismorning, if he proposed to you, or even to Dixon, I should scarcelycare. Everything seems a blank. I feel a sort of depression and horrornot to be described or imagined."
"I desired you, Dixon, to leave the room," exclaimed Marion,astonished to perceive her still lurking about the bed. "Goinstantly," added Marion in a more peremptory tone, for there wassomething that terrified her in the woman's look. "What do you think,my dear Agnes, can be the cause of this very sudden illness? Did youeat any supper?"
"Nothing; I Jephsonized completely; tasted not a morsel, and drankstill less! That good creature, Dixon, brought me a cup of tea from herown breakfast, on my return home, merely to lay the dust in my throat,but, _entre nous_, I tossed the greater part out of that windowclandestinely, as it had an odd, disagreeable taste, likestuff-petticoats! Poor Dixon would be mortified if she knew what Ithought of her 'delicious mixture' at, probably, 3s. 6d. the pound. Itis a pleasure to see any human being so attached as she is to me."
Marion's color deepened at the tone of reproach in which these lastwords were spoken. It was impossible, she thought, that they could beseriously considered applicable to her, and yet both the look andaccent seemed to say so, and the ready color flushed her cheek whenshe felt that no attachment could have equalled her own, had she daredto express it either in word or deed.
As Agnes declined sending for a doctor, and seemed already better,though unable for more exertion, Marion took up a book, and remainedsilently by her side, watching, with anxious solicitude, everyvariation of her countenance, and, with affectionate ingenuity,anticipating all her many wants, the most troublesome of whichappeared to be a craving and intolerable thirst.
After some time the door opened, and Dixon was about to enter with atray containing Agnes' dinner, but on seeing Marion still there, shestarted and seemed about hastily to withdraw.
"Come in," said Marion, looking with astonishment at the abigail'scountenance, which was flushed and inflamed, as if she had beenintoxicated. "Come in."
"When Miss Dunbar is ill, she always likes her dinner alone," saidDixon, pertly. "This is only a plain pudding, so I shall keep it warmbelow."
"My sister will not like it the less for my helping her," said Marion,affectionately turning to Agnes. "You may leave it with me, Dixon."
Marion was surprised to see the woman visibly change color when shesaid this. The abigail instantly compressed her lips as if to preventtheir quivering, fixed her wild glaring eyes on Agnes, and then gavean anxious glance at the dinner tray.
"This pudding seems excellent," continued Marion, helping Agnes; "butsurely there is rather
too much sugar scattered on the top! Sugar!"added Marion in accents of astonishment, when she had put it to herlips; "this is not sugar! stop, Agnes! stop! I charge you not to tasteit!" exclaimed Marion, hastily dashing the spoon out of her sister'shand, as she was raising it to her mouth. "What can this mean? Thereis something here I do not understand. It must be explained!"
Bewildered and amazed, Marion looked round, and beheld a dark scowl ofrage and fear, like insanity itself, never afterwards to be forgotten,which disturbed the countenance of Dixon for a moment, and then shebecame of a livid, unnatural whiteness, when, in a low, subdued voice,she uttered,
"I know nothing about it; the cook seasons Miss Dunbar's dinner; ifthis is not to her taste, I can take it away."
"Marion, what is the matter? I hate all this fuss. Pray do not make ascene when I am so ill. Dixon manages for me without half thistrouble. The pudding seems good enough."
Marion trembled visibly as she got up, but without saying another wordshe rang three times for the cook, who expressed the greatestastonishment when the pudding was shown to her, saying, in a tone ofpique, as she supposed her skill was in question,
"I put none of that there powdering on; sure it be something veryqueer; neither sugar, salt, nor mustard! It would be of little use ina kitchen, with no taste? I declare," added she, suddenly changingcolor, "to my thinking, it be nothing better nor worse than arsenic!"
A stifled cry of astonishment and consternation escaped from Marionat these words, while she hurriedly exclaimed, "Stop Dixon; do notlet Dixon leave the house! Send for an apothecary. Where is Patrick?"
The powder, on being analyzed, proved, indeed, to be arsenic, whichDixon bought on the previous evening, on the usual pretext ofpoisoning rats; but while Marion was raising an alarm, the culpritherself absconded, carrying off all Agnes' trinkets and money, whichshe must previously have secreted; and notice of the robbery wasimmediately sent to the police. Among her valuable collection ofjewelry, Agnes bestowed the most audible lamentations on a splendidlocket set in diamonds with her brother's hair; but her secret regretswere the deepest for a crystal scent-bottle, with a gold top set inturquoises, which Captain De Crespigny had presented on the previousevening, pretending he had lost it to her in a bet.
"One would fancy," said Agnes, in her usual rallying tone, the firsttime she saw Captain De Crespigny after her recovery, "that Dixon hadbeen some old admirer of yours. Not a vestige is left of anything Iever received from you! The last year's annual which you gave me, themusic which you copied for me, even my withered bouquet of the nightbefore, all gone at one fell swoop, leaving not a wreck behind!"
Captain De Crespigny colored violently, and strode to the window inevident confusion, which Marion could not but remark with astonishmentand perplexity; but Agnes, quite unconscious of his agitation, rattledon with increasing animation.
"I always now put my money and everything valuable in the mostconspicuous part of my room, to save anybody the trouble of murderingme for them. I have a perfect horror of being murdered! It neveroccurred to me, however, that the treasures which for certain reasonsI value most, were in any danger, being of no intrinsic value to otherpeople. I really would have died in defence of my littlescent-bottle."
Captain De Crespigny had recourse now to the poker, an inestimablerefuge in all cases where the concealment of emotion is an object, ashis heightened color could excite no reasonable surprise after theexertion of lifting it, and the noise he made afterwards seemedequivalent to a reply.
"It was, after all, a most terrifying escape!" continued Agnes, ratherdelighted than otherwise by the importance she had acquired by thisadventure, and holding it up continually in every light that shecould. "That horrid Dixon! she always had a half-crazed look! You mustremember my telling you so, Marion?"
"I remember it perfectly it was I who said so to you!" replied hersister, laughing,
"Ah! that is exactly the same thing!"
"Not in the least," persisted Marion, good-humoredly smiling. "Allgreat discoveries occasion disputes about the originators. Watt andBell about steam, and you and I about this poisoning affair!"
"Well, it was clever of you, Marion! I shall do as much for youanother time. That ungrateful creature! The arsenic would probably, atthe very least, have spoiled my teeth, and perhaps made my hair growgrey! That I never could have survived!"
"The strangest thing of all is, that there seems to have been so muchmalice in the whole business," continued Marion. "She might easilyhave carried off all the plate, or Patrick's gold dressing-case! Whatcould ail Dixon at you, Agnes? You were kindness itself to her."
"This is an odd world, and very remarkable things happen in it,"observed Sir Patrick, with a yawn. "But you may talk till you are bothin your coffins, without making anything new of this business. Youraffair has been the wonder of the house for two entire days, Agnes,without a single new fact having come out, and there is De Crespignystrolled into the garden to escape being wearied to death. I reallythink two days long enough to discuss any one subject, and the lessyou annoy yourselves about it the better. If the culprit is aboveground, the police will ferret her out; and my advice to both of youis, to eat your puddings for the next month without sugar!"
Agnes assumed a look of majestic ire at this very cavalier allusion toher adventure, and threw herself back in her arm-chair, with anexceedingly ill-used aspect, heaving a succession of indignant sighs,which continued most provokingly unnoticed till they amounted at lastalmost to groans of suppressed anger, while Sir Patrick, taking up the"Times," concluded, by saying, in a tone of absent, carelessindifference,
"One has no leisure now to be happy and sorry about everything thatoccurs. I remember once seeing a very impudent, forward-lookingactress perform Juliet at Covent-Garden, when De Crespigny whisperedto me, in his droll way, 'Depend upon it, this is not the first loverwhom that young lady has met on a balcony!' and you may depend uponit, Agnes, this is not the first poisoning experiment your abigail hasattempted: I hope she will never try her skill on me! What would yousay if she were to administer a dose of zinc some day, and turn youblue! I often wonder that no jealous woman ever wreaked her vengeancein that way! It would be a capital joke!"
Agnes had been greatly flattered, and if any attention to herselfcould have surprised her, she might have been astonished at theintense interest almost inadvertently betrayed by Captain DeCrespigny, in the mysterious circumstances of her lately discovereddanger. When the particulars were first mentioned, he turned as paleas death, and asked with startling eagerness, for a minute descriptionof the abigail's appearance, to which he listened with almostbreathless attention. From that moment he became indefatigable in hisefforts to trace out the fugitive, in which he seemed most truly andheartily in earnest, writing advertisements himself for thenewspapers, to offer a reward for her apprehension, and never seemingto tire of hearing all that could be remembered or related, respectingthe period of her being first engaged by Agnes, her dress, manner,age, and appearance, while his color varied visibly from red to paleseveral times during the narration.
"It is altogether most flattering to me!" observed Agnes next day,when pointing all this out to Sir Patrick. "Captain De Crespigny hasbeen sometimes most maliciously accused of insincerity towards youngladies; but when he is in earnest you see how very much in earnest heis! It would be impossible for him to be more deeply interested andagitated on the occasion, if his own life, instead of mine, had beenendangered. I wish everybody else had shown as much feeling!" addedshe, glancing angrily at Sir Patrick, who was carelessly whistling atune, and beating time with a riding whip on his boot. "Well!"exclaimed Agnes, getting more and more irritated, "if I did not seethat one person at least cares more for me in the world than you do, Iwould be ready yet, without giving Dixon the trouble, to poisonmyself! I would spend my last shilling on a dose of arsenic!"
"I am not sure that poisoning in such a case would be the best plan!"replied Sir Patrick, describing circles on the carpet with his whip,and speaking
in a tone of most provoking _nonchalance_. "In the firstplace, if people are so very indifferent, it might be no greatpunishment to them; and besides, I do not exactly see how poisoningwould improve your own prospects, either in this world or the next! Inrespect to my friend De Crespigny, it is quite a catch for any idle manlike him, when something occurs that he can be interested in, for hewas dying of too much leisure; but as for his ever falling seriously inlove with any young lady in the creation, let me warn you, Agnes, oncefor all, that there cannot be a more hopeless hope invented or dreamedof."
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