Mrs. Astor uttered a scream, and snatched up the paper which had fallen on the carpet.
"Look at it, doctor—it was calomel, just as you prescribed—what else could it be!"
The doctor examined the paper—there was a little powder still sticking to it.
"Good heavens, doctor," cried Mrs. Astor, "what makes you look so?—what is it?—what was it?"
"Where did you get this?" said he, sternly.
"At the apothecary's—I took it from that chest—examine it, pray."
The doctor turned away with a groan, and approached his beautiful patient, now gasping and convulsed. He applied the most powerful antidotes, but without effect.
"I am dying," she cried, "I am dying—I am poisoned—but oh, doctor, save me—save me—let me see him, if I must die—let me see him again;" and she held out her hands imploringly to Mrs. Astor, who was in a state little short of distraction.
"Only tell me, if you mean Mr. Hall."
"Who should I mean but Augustus?" she cried. "Perhaps in death he may forgive me."