“What do you do here? Wait below till you are sent for.”
Beck pulled his forelock, and retreated back, not in the direction of the principal staircase, but towards that used by the servants, and which his researches into the topography of the mansion had now made known to him. To gain these back stairs he had to pass Lucretia’s room; the door stood ajar; Varney’s face was turned from him. Beck breathed hard, looked round, then crept within, and in a moment was behind the folds of the tapestry.
Soon the chair in which sat Madame Dalibard was drawn by Varney himself into the room.
Shutting the door with care, and turning the key, Gabriel said, with low, suppressed passion,—
“Well; your mind seems wandering,—speak!”
“It is strange,” said Lucretia, in hollow tones, “can Nature turn accomplice, and befriend us here?”
“Nature! did you not last night administer the—”
“No,” interrupted Lucretia. “No; she came into the room, she kissed me here,—on the brow that even then was meditating murder. The kiss burned; it burns still,—it eats into the brain like remorse. But I did not yield; I read again her false father’s protestation of love; I read again the letter announcing the discovery of my son, and remorse lay still. I went forth as before, I stole into her chamber, I had the fatal crystal in my hand—”
“Well, well!”
“And suddenly there came the fearful howl of a dog, and the dog’s fierce eyes glared on me. I paused, I trembled; Helen started, woke, called aloud. I turned and fled. The poison was not given.”