XXIII

It was just and proper. But only Orpha had the courage to speak—to seek to probe his
mind—to sound the depths of this household’s misery. Orpha! whom to guard from
the mere disagreeabilities of life were a man’s coveted delight! She our leader? The
one to take her stand in the breach yawning between the old life and the new?
“You mean,” she forced herself to say, “that what had happened to Martha’s brother
may have happened to my beloved father?”
“I doubt it, but we must make sure. A poison capable of producing death was in this
house. You know that; others knew it. I had warned you all concerning it. I made it
plain, I thought, that small doses taken according to prescription were helpful, but that
increased beyond a certain point, they meant death. You remember, Orpha?”
She bowed her head.
“And you, Edgar and Quenton?”
We did, alas!
“And his nurses, and the man Clarke, all who were at liberty to enter his room?”
“They knew.” It was Orpha who spoke. “I called their attention to what you had said
more than once.”
“Is the phial containing that poison still in the house? I have not ordered it lately.”
“It is. Edgar and I have just been up to see. We found it among the other bottles in the
medicine cabinet.”
“When did he receive the last dose of it under my instructions?”
[Pg 128]
“Wealthy can tell you. She kept very close watch of that bottle.”
“Wealthy,” he called, with a glance towards the gallery, “come down. I have a
question or two to put to you.”
She obeyed him quickly, almost eagerly.
The other servants, Clarke alone excepted, came creeping from their corner as they
saw her enter amongst us and stand in her quiet respectful way before the doctor.
He greeted her kindly; she had always been a favorite of his; then spoke up quickly:
“Mr. Bartholomew died too soon, Wealthy. We should have had him with us for
another fortnight. What was the cause of it, do you know? A wrong dose? A repeated
dose? One bottle mistaken for another?”
Her eyes, filled with tears, rose slowly to his face.
“I cannot say. The last time I saw that bottle it was at the very back of the shelf where
I had pushed it after you had said he was to have no more of it at present. It was in the
same place when we went up just now to see if it had been taken from the cabinet. It
did not look as though it had been moved.”
“Holding the same amount as when you saw it last?”
“To all appearance, yes, sir.”
What was there in her tone or in the little choke which followed these few words
which made the doctor stare a moment, then open his lips to speak and then desist
with a hasty glance at Edgar? I had myself felt the shiver of some new fear at her
manner and the unconscious emphasis she had given to that word appearance. But
was it the same fear which held him back from pursuing his inquiries, and led him to
say instead:
“I should like to see that bottle. No,” he remonstrated, as Orpha started to accompany
him. “You are a brave girl, but it is not for your physician to abuse that bravery. [Pg
129] Wealthy will go up with me. Meantime, let Edgar take you away to some spot
where you can rest till I come back.”
It was kindly meant but oh, how hard I felt it to see these two draw off like accepted
lovers; and with what joy I beheld them stop, evidently at a word from her, and seat
themselves on one of the leather-covered lounges drawn up against the wall well
within the sight of every one there.
I could rest, with these two sitting thus in full view—rest in the present; the future
must take care of itself.
The result of the doctor’s visit to the room above was evident in the increased gravity
he showed on his return. He had little to say beyond enjoining upon Edgar and Orpha
the necessity for a delay in the funeral services and a suggestion that we separate at
once for the night and get what sleep we could. He would send a man to sit by the
dead and if we would control ourselves sufficiently not to discuss this unhappy event
all might yet be well.
The picture he made with Orpha as he took his leave of her at the door remains warm
in my memory. She had begun to droop and he saw it. To comfort her he took her two
hands in his and drew them to his breast while he talked to her, softly but firmly. As I
saw the confidence with which she finally received his admonitions, I blessed him in
my heart; though with a man’s knowledge of men I perceived that his endeavor to
give comfort sprang from sympathy rather than conviction. Tragedy was in the house,
veiled and partially hidden, but waiting—waiting for the full recognition which the
morrow must bring. A shadow with a monstrous substance behind it we would be
called upon to face!
For one wild instant I wished that I had never left my native land; never seen the great
Bartholomew; never felt the welcoming touch of Orpha’s little hand on mine. As I
knelt again in my open window a half hour later, the [Pg 130] star which had shone in
upon me two hours before had vanished in clouds.
Darkness was in the sky, darkness was in the house, darkness was in my own soul,
and saddest of all, darkness was in that of our lovely and innocent Orpha.