Volume Three—Chapter Twenty Three.
Dally’s Hysterics.
Salis ran out into the hall, followed by the doctor, to meet Mary and the housekeeper from the other side.
“North?” gasped Salis; he could say no more.
“Sleeping peacefully,” said the housekeeper; “what is the matter?” For Mary could not speak.
“Leo must be ill,” said Salis, rushing up the stairs to his sister’s room.
“Leo! Leo!” he cried, rattling the door-handle.
For answer there was a moaning, almost inhuman, sound.
“Can you open the door?” said the old doctor, who had followed him. “It must be a fit.”
“Stand back,” cried Salis; and going to the other side of the broad landing, he rushed forward, literally hurling himself at the door, which flew open with a crash.
The light carried by Mary streamed into the room, and lit up the figure grovelling upon the carpet.
In an instant Salis was down upon one knee, and had raised her upon his arm.
“Dally!” he cried wonderingly, as the girl writhed and fought and moaned in his arms. The doctor glanced at the hysterical girl. “Light here,” he said sternly; and as Mary wonderingly bore forward the lamp, the old man lifted the tea-cup, upon which his eyes had instantly lit, smelled, and then cautiously tasted it. He shook his head. “Is she poisoned?” gasped Salis. “No,” said the old doctor promptly. “The lamp a little nearer, please.”
Mary held it towards him, and the old man bent down over Dally and made a rapid examination; no easy task, for she was throwing herself about wildly, and one hand struck the lamp shade and tore it away.
“That will do,” said the doctor in stern, hard tones. “Here: have you another servant? Get her to bed at once.”
As he spoke he seized Dally’s wrist, and gave it a jerk.
“Get up!” he said harshly.
“What a shame!” murmured Mrs Milt indignantly.
“Of this girl to make such a disturbance?” said the old doctor, who had caught her words. “Yes, disgraceful, when there is so much trouble. That’s right; get up. Not your room, I suppose?”
To the surprise of all, Dally had risen, and stood with her hands clenched, looking wildly from one to the other.
“Can you walk to your room, Dally?” said Mary.
The girl nodded sharply, then looked around wildly, and the full force of her trouble coming back, she burst into a passion of tears.
“But where is Leo?” cried Salis. “Where is my sister?”
He darted to the open window and looked out.
“Want me, sir?” said a voice.
“You there, Chegg? How’s that?”
“You telled me to watch, sir.”
“Have you seen any one pass?”
“Only Miss Leo, sir,” replied the man.
Salis turned from the window, looking as if stunned.
“Gone!” he said wonderingly.
“Yes,” cried Dally, mingling her words with sobs of rage and spite. “She’s gone off with Tom Candlish.”
“And you—you wretch—you have helped her,” cried Salis, seizing the girl by the arm.
“I didn’t. It isn’t true. I’ve done everything to keep ’em apart; but they’ve cheated and deceived me,” cried Dally. “She’s gone up to London to meet him—and—and they’ve gone there.”
She tore an envelope from her pocket, and Salis snatched it from her hand to read the address in Craven Street.
“Hartley,” whispered Mary, clinging to him now, “is it true?”
“Yes,” he said hoarsely, “it must be true. Hush! I must leave you now. Mr Delton, will you stay in the house, and watch over my sister and my friend? I must go away at once.”
“There’s no train till to-morrow morning at eight,” sobbed Dally passionately; and she stamped her feet like an angry child as her hysterical fit began to return.
“That will do!” said the old doctor sternly, as he grasped the girl’s wrist once more, and she looked up at him in a startled way, and then quailed and subsided into a fit of sobbing.
“Anything I can do, Mr Salis, you may depend on being done.”
Salis nodded; he could not speak for a moment, but gazed full in his sister’s eyes.
“Did you suspect this?” he whispered.
“Oh, no, Hartley,” she replied.
“No; you could not have suspected.”
He drew a long breath, and seemed to be making an effort to check his agony of spirit, and to be forcing himself to act firmly.
“Chegg,” he cried from the window, “go round to the front door. I’ll meet you there. Mrs Milt,” he said, closing the window, “will you be good enough to see this girl to her room? Stay with her for the present. Mary, poor North is alone,” he added; “go down.”
“And you, Hartley?”
“I’ll follow directly,” he said; and as soon as the room was cleared, he turned to the old doctor.
“You tasted that tea,” he said sharply.
“Yes; strongly flavoured with chloral,” he said.
“Chloral? How could that have got into the tea? And the girl’s fit? Not epilepsy?”
“Hysteria. Rage and disappointment,” said the old doctor. “So it seems to me. There is more beneath the surface than appears. Mr Salis, what can I do to help you?”
“Give me your prayers and ask me nothing,” he replied sadly. “There is more beneath the surface, sir.”
“I will respect your silence,” said the old man, taking his hand. “You are Horace North’s friend, sir, and that is sufficient for me. You are going to town?”
Salis nodded.
“My house is at your disposal,” said the doctor, and he handed Salis his card.
At five o’clock, after due arrangements had been made, Joe Chegg was at the door with a chaise, ready to drive Salis over to the station at King’s Hampton; but, long before that, Dally had begged Mrs Milt to “fetch Miss Mary,” to whom the half-wild, sobbing girl had made a clean breast, of all she knew, and this had been communicated to the curate.
“I need not fear leaving North—I mean on my sister’s behalf?” said Salis, as he stood by the chaise.
“Trust to me, my dear sir, and go without fear.”
Salis climbed into the chaise, and, with his head bent, was driven off through the chilly morning air in search of the fugitive who had nine hours’ start; and as he recalled this he muttered: “I am too late!”