Varney ground his teeth. “But this illness! Ha! the effect, perhaps, of the drops administered two nights ago.”
“No; this illness has no symptoms like those the poison should bequeath,—it is but natural fever, a shock on the nerves; she told me she had been wakened by the dog’s howl, and seen a dark form, like a thing from the grave, creeping along the floor. But she is really ill; send for the physician; there is nothing in her illness to betray the hand of man. Be it as it may,—that kiss still burns; I will stir in this no more. Do what you will yourself!”
“Fool, fool!” exclaimed Varney, almost rudely grasping her arm. “Remember how much we have yet to prepare for, how much to do,—and the time so short! Percival’s return,—perhaps this Greville’s arrival. Give me the drugs; I will mix them for her in the potion the physician sends. And when Percival returns,—his Helen dead or dying,—I will attend on him! Silent still? Recall your son! Soon you will clasp him in your arms as a beggar, or as the lord of Laughton!”
Lucretia shuddered, but did not rise; she drew forth a ring of keys from her bosom, and pointed towards a secretary. Varney snatched the keys, unlocked the secretary, seized the fatal casket, and sat down quietly before it.
When the dire selections were made, and secreted about his person, Varney rose, approached the fire, and blew the wood embers to a blaze.
“And now,” he said, with his icy irony of smile, “we may dismiss these useful instruments,—perhaps forever. Though Walter Ardworth, in restoring your son, leaves us dependent on that son’s filial affection, and I may have, therefore, little to hope for from the succession, to secure which I have risked and am again to risk my life, I yet trust to that influence which you never fail to obtain over others. I take it for granted that when these halls are Vincent Braddell’s, we shall have no need of gold, nor of these pale alchemies. Perish, then, the mute witnesses of our acts, the elements we have bowed to our will! No poison shall be found in our hoards! Fire, consume your consuming children!”
As he spoke, he threw upon the hearth the contents of the casket, and set his heel upon the logs. A bluish flame shot up, breaking into countless sparks, and then died.
Lucretia watched him without speaking.
In coming back towards the table, Varney felt something hard beneath his tread; he stooped, and picked up the ring which has before been described as amongst the ghastly treasures of the casket, and which had rolled on the floor almost to Lucretia’s feet, as he had emptied the contents on the hearth.
“This, at least, need tell no tales,” said he; “a pity to destroy so rare a piece of workmanship,—one, too, which we never can replace!”