“Miss Eudora Leaton, you are my prisoner,” repeated the constable, again laying his hand upon her.
“Your prisoner!” she exclaimed, shrinking in dismay and abhorrence from the degrading touch. “Your prisoner! what do you mean?”
“Tell her, officer, and end this,” repeated the doctor, while Eudora looked wildly from one to the other, and sank back in her chair.
“Miss Leaton,” said the constable, blandly, “the crowner’s ’quest has been and found a verdict against you, charging you with poisoning of your aunt, Matilda, Lady Leaton, and your cousin, the Honorable Agatha Leaton; and this paper in my hand is the crowner’s warrant for your arrest.”
Before he had finished, Eudora had sprung to her feet, and now she stood with her dark, starry eyes dilated and blazing with a horror that approached insanity.
At length she found her voice. Clasping her hands and raising her eyes, in a passion of self-vindication, she exclaimed:
“Great Lord of heaven! is there any one on earth capable of such heinous crimes? Is there any one here who believes me to be so?”
The doctor came to her side, saying:
“Young girl, the proof against you is too clear to leave a doubt upon the mind of any one present.”
“Proof? how can there be proof of that which never happened—which never could have happened?—a crime which my very soul abhors; at which my whole frame shudders, from which my whole nature recoils—and committed by me and upon those whom I was bound to love and respect and serve! and committed for what purpose, great Heaven! for what purpose? What object could I have had in the destruction of my own nearest kindred, dearest friends, and only protectors?” demanded the accused girl, in a tone of impassioned grief, indignation and horror.