CHAPTER XXIV.
A FEARFUL DEED.
Violet stood transfixed with horror as these strange words reached her ears. What did they mean? How came Gilbert Warrington here, and upon such apparently confidential terms with Mrs. Yorke’s trusted servant?
Violet’s heart swelled with bitter indignation against the old woman, and she made up her mind to expose her villainy and have her punished as she deserved.
All at once, like a flash, it occurred to Violet that Betty Harwood had acted in conjunction with Warrington, and had plotted to betray her into his hands. That was why she had planned and insisted upon the girl’s solitary visit to the east chamber.
It certainly seemed quite probable that there was a conspiracy between the two, and that Betty was in Gilbert Warrington’s employ—his tool and confederate. Yet it was an awful thing to reflect upon. And what could Betty’s object be in acting this traitorous part?
But there was no time for conjecture; the thoughts had flashed through Violet’s brain and left no answer. She felt that she must act.
She glided like a small black-robed ghost a little nearer the entrance to the passage where the two stood engaged in low, eager conversation, and standing close against the wall, so as to escape observation, she listened to what came next.
“True,” old Betty was saying, in a low, hushed tone. “But, then, there is always fear of detection; and we have failed in one well-laid scheme to get possession of the girl. I thought that you would have everything your own way, when once you got her to visit the east chamber; and when she would find herself alone with you in that gloomy place, I thought the rest would be easy. But you let her slip through your fingers, and now you must stand the consequences. Unless you forcibly abduct her, you will never get a chance again. Hush-h! what was that? I thought I heard something in the passage down there near the door. No; I suppose it was imagination. Well, then you are ready to strike the decisive blow? It shall be done to-night. Remember, we share equally.”
“Equally. But, Betty, the girl must not be hurt in any way.”
“Bah! you are getting soft-hearted in your old age!” snapped the woman, viciously. “Of course, there shall be no violence done. Trust me for that. And now comes the hard part. I must prepare for a trying ordeal, Gilbert. We understand each other? There will be no failure this time through mistake or misunderstanding?”
“There will be no failure,” he returned, grimly; “only carry out your part, and I will do the same. Hist! the old woman is calling you.”
Through the silence there sounded the silvery tinkle of a little bell. Betty uttered a low exclamation.
“She rings as if she is out of temper,” muttered Betty, harshly. “Oh, well! I don’t believe she will trouble me with her overbearing tyranny much longer. I’m off, Gilbert. Don’t forget the arrangements.”
“Of course not. Make haste, or the old woman will arouse the house.”
Betty disappeared swiftly in the direction of Mrs. Yorke’s chamber, and Violet stood still in the darkness and waited for Gilbert Warrington to leave before she would dare return to the inhabited portion of the house.
A strange feeling weighed down her heart like a load—a certainty that something was about to happen. What was wrong? What awful calamity was about to fall upon the house of Yorke?
She thought of the two faces dimly revealed by the faint light from the hall-way—the face of the man dark and ferocious, the crafty eyes glowing with evil fire, the thin, compressed lips, the huge yellow teeth like the fangs of a wolf about to spring upon its prey. Then she recalled the face of the woman—the wrinkled, sallow countenance, with its cruel eyes and ugly mouth, and it was not pleasant to think of.
There was something sinister in it all, and Violet could only wonder why Mrs. Yorke had retained her so long in her employ.
“I will follow her,” the girl said to herself, “and see what evil deed she is about to do.”
Gathering her skirts closely about her, she glided down the narrow passage, keeping close against the wall, and so emerged at last into the outer corridor, leaving Gilbert Warrington still at the extremity of the long, dark passage which led to the east chamber.
Once in the main corridor, Violet paused an instant to collect her thoughts; then she darted swiftly, noiselessly along to the door of Mrs. Yorke’s room. It stood wide open. Violet slipped into the room and concealed herself behind it. The position of the door was such that she could easily see, without being seen, all that was taking place in the room.
This is what she saw: Mrs. Yorke was lying in bed, propped up by pillows. Her face was turned away from the door, consequently she had not seen Violet’s sudden appearance in her room. At the bedside stood old Betty. Mrs. Yorke’s back was turned to her, and she was speaking in querulous tones.
“I don’t know what detains Miss Glyndon,” she was saying. “I sent her down-stairs for a fresh bottle of the sleeping-draught, which was in the store-room, and also to bring a book from the library to read to me as usual. It must have been a full hour ago, but she has not returned. I shall discharge her to-morrow. I can not trust her. She is not fit to be in my employ. Nobody is prompt and punctual and reliable like you, Betty.”
“No, ma’am; nobody could be more so, I am sure. But I work from the heart, ma’am,” returned the old hypocrite, blandly; and Violet’s heart swelled with indignation as she listened to the false words from the wicked old woman.
“Will you have the sleeping-draught now, ma’am?” added old Betty, sweetly.
“Yes; I must sleep. You will find the old bottle on the table yonder. There is still enough left for one more dose. Give it to me, Betty, and let me sleep.”
“I will.”
There was something awful in the cruel voice. Violet felt the blood run cold in her veins. She stood quite still, her eyes riveted upon the old woman’s movements.
Betty drew a small vial from her pocket, and removing the cork, dropped a portion of its contents into a wine-glass; then she returned the cork to the vial and slipped it back into her pocket, after which she stooped over the invalid, with pale face and stern, compressed lips.
“Here,” she said in a trembling tone; “here is your sleeping-potion, ma’am. You will soon sleep well!”
She lifted Mrs. Yorke’s head upon her arm and held the glass to her lips. The sight broke the spell which seemed to enchain Violet’s faculties, and with a wild shriek which resounded through the house she sprung forward, and with one swift blow dashed the wine-glass from Betty’s hand.
“Don’t touch it, Mrs. Yorke!” cried Violet in a clear, ringing voice. “It is poisoned!”
Quick as a flash, out went the light, leaving the room in total darkness. A tall form glided swiftly into the room, and Violet felt herself seized in strong arms, and a hand pressed over her mouth, and then she was borne swiftly away.
When Leonard Yorke and Jessie Glyndon, startled by that awful shriek, reached Mrs. Yorke’s room, they found her upon the bed in strong convulsions, and old Betty in a dead swoon upon the floor.
And Violet—where was she?
