about the danger of being “too venturesome.” “You’ll get about all the surer, ma'am, for being quiet for another day or two.”
At that moment, in came Mrs. Pepperfly; a flaring candle in one hand, and a tray with a basin of gruel on it in the other. Judith, generally suspicious of Mrs. Pepperfly, went close and glanced attentively into the basin, lest that lady should have seasoned it with a few drops of tallow in the ascent. The light shone full on Judith’s swollen face, and Mrs. Crane burst into a fit of laughter.
“I can’t help it,” she said, as they turned to her in amazement. “It is your face that I am laughing at, Judith. It looks like the moon at the full; the cheeks are so round.”
“Oh! ma'am, I don’t mind the look, so that I am easy. The swelling will soon go down again.”
Judith wished her good night and departed. Nurse Pepperfly arranged the basin of gruel conveniently on the bed, and stood by while it was eaten.
“And now for my composing draught,” I said Mrs. Crane.
“I can’t give you that yet, mum,” dissented the nurse. “The idea of your taking it right atop of the gruel!”
“I don’t suppose it would hurt. It came, didn’t it.”
“It came while Mr. Carlton was here, mum. It was that what I brought up, and Mr. Carlton he tasted of it. Just like them doctors! they are sure to put their tongues to each others’ medicines.”
“Mr. Carlton’s going to meet Mr. Stephen Grey here at ten to-marrow,” she observed. “And then I shall be under his charge exclusively.”
“I heered some'at on it, mum,” was Mrs. Pepperfly'e answer.
She had turned to busy herself about the room, making the night arrangements. By the aid of blankets, a bed had been extemporised for herself on the sofa in the sitting-room, and there she slept, the door between the two rooms being left open that the patient might be still under her supervision. Mrs. Pepperfly had really been on her good behaviour hitherto; afraid, perhaps, to run counter to the strict mandate of Mr. Stephen Grey, given to her on entering.
About half-past nine or a quarter to ten, when Mrs. Crane had been made comfortable for the night, the nurse pronounced it time for the composing draught.
“Just light me to get it, will you?” she asked of Mrs. Gould, who had been in the chamber helping to straighten the bed, and who happened to have the candle in her hand.
The bottle was on the cheffonier where the nurse herself had placed it. She took it to the side of the bed.
“Ready, mum?”
“Quite,” said Mrs. Crane.
She, the nurse, poured the contents into a large wine-glass, and Mrs. Crane drank them down, but not before she had made some remark about cherry pie.
“How it do smell!” cried Mrs. Gould, who stood by with the candle, whispering the words to the nurse.
“Mr. Carlton said it did,” was the answering whisper. “Them doctors’ noses be quick.”
“It don’t want much quickness to smell this,” sniffed the landlady.
“It was just at the moment as I’d took my drop short, and you know———”
An awful cry; bringing the nurse’s confession to a stand-still; an awful cry of alarm and agony. But whether it came from Mrs. Crane on the bed, or Mrs. Gould by her side, or from both, Nurse Pepperfly was too much startled to know.
Oh, then was commotion in the chamber! What was amiss with their patient? Was it a fainting fit?—was it a convulsion?—or was it death? Was it the decree of God that was taking her from the world? or had some fatal drug been given to her in error?
There is no mistaking death by those accustomed to the sight; and Mrs. Pepperfly, more thoroughly sobered in brain than she often was, wrung her hands wildly.
“It’s death!” she exclaimed to the landlady. “As sure as you and me’s standing upright here, it’s death, and she is gone! That physic must have been poisoned; and perhaps they’ll try us both for giving it to her, and hang us after it.”
With a hullabaloo that might have been heard over the way, Mrs. Gould tore down the stairs. She was nearly out of her senses just then, scared out of them with consternation and terror. Partly at the event just happened, partly at the nurse’s remark as to possible consequences to themselves, was she terrified. She burst out at the front door, left it open, and ran panting up the street, some confused notion in her mind of fetching Mr. Grey. Before she gained his house, however, she encountered Mr. Carlton.
Without a word of explanation, for she was too breathless and bewildered to give it, she seized his arm, turned to run back again, and to pull him with her. Mr. Carlton did not relish so summary a mode of proceeding.
“Stop!” he exclaimed, “stop! What means this? What’s the matter?”
