CHAPTER XII.
MR. VANE was putting Mrs. Woffington into her chair, when he thought heheard his name cried. He bade that lady a mournful farewell, and steppedback into his own hall. He had no sooner done so than he heard a voice,the accent of which alarmed him, though he distinguished no word. Hehastily crossed the hall and flew into the banquet-room. Coming rapidlyin at the folding-doors he almost fell over his wife, lying insensiblehalf upon the floor and half upon the chair. When he saw her pale andmotionless, a terrible misgiving seized him; he fell on his knees.
"Mabel, Mabel!" cried he, "my love! my innocent wife! Oh, God! what haveI done? Perhaps it is the fatigue--perhaps she has fainted."
"No, it is not the fatigue!" screamed a voice near him. It was old JamesBurdock, who, with his white hair streaming and his eye gleaming withfire, shook his fist in his master's face--"no, it is not the fatigue,you villain! It is you who have killed her, with your jezebels andharlots, you scoundrel!"
"Send the women here, James, for God's sake!" cried Mr. Vane, noteven noticing the insult he had received from a servant. He stampedfuriously, and cried for help. The whole household was round her in amoment. They carried her to bed.
The remorse-stricken man, his own knees trembling under him, flew, in anagony of fear and self-reproach, for a doctor!
_A doctor?_
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