“You think she’ll live! Oh, my lady! why did you terrify us in this manner?”
Lady Delacour smiled, and calmly said, as Doctor X—— still continued to count her pulse, “The pulse may deceive you, doctor, but I do not. Marriott, you may—”
Belinda heard no more; for at this instant, as she was standing alone, near the glass-door that was opposite to the bed, she saw at a distance in the garden the figure which Lady Delacour had described. Lady Delacour was now so intent upon speaking to Dr. X——, that she saw nothing but him. Belinda had the presence of mind to be perfectly silent. The figure stood still for some moments. She advanced a few steps nearer to the window, and the figure vanished. She kept her eye steadily fixed upon the spot where it had disappeared, and she saw it rise again and glide quickly behind some bushes. Belinda beckoned to Dr. X——, who perceived by the eagerness of her manner, that she wished to speak to him immediately. He resigned his patient to Marriott, and followed Miss Portman out of the room. She told him what she had just seen, said it was of the utmost consequence to Lady Delacour to have the truth ascertained, and requested that Dr. X——would go with some of the men-servants and search the garden, to discover whether any one was there concealed, or whether any footsteps could be traced. The doctor did not search long before he perceived footsteps in the borders opposite to the glass-door of Lady Delacour’s bedchamber; he was carefully following their track, when he heard a loud cry, which seemed to come from the other side of the garden wall. There was a breach in the wall over which he scrambled with some difficulty. The screams continued with redoubled violence. As he was making his way to the spot from which they proceeded, he was met by the old gardener, who was crossing one of the walks with a lantern in his hand.
“Ho! ho!” cried the gardener, “I take it that we have the thief at last. I fancy that the fellow whose footsteps I traced, and who has been at my morello cherry-tree every night, has been caught in the trap. I hope his leg is not broke, though!-This way, sir—this way!”
The gardener led the doctor to the place, and there they found a man, whose leg had actually been caught in the spring-trap which had been set for the defence of the cherry-tree. The man had by this time fallen into a swoon; they extricated him as fast as possible, and Doctor X—— had him brought to Lady Delacour’s, in order that the surgeon, who was there, might see his leg.
As they were carrying him across the hall, Belinda met them. She poured out a glass of water for the man, who was just recovering from his swoon; but as she went nearer to give it him, she was struck with his wonderful resemblance to Harriot Freke.
“It must be Mrs. Freke herself!” whispered she to Marriott, whose wide opening eyes, at this instant, fixed themselves upon her.
“It must be Mrs. Freke herself, ma’am!” repeated Marriott.
And so in fact it was.
There is a certain class of people, who are incapable of generous confidence in their equals, but who are disposed to yield implicit credit to the underhand information of mean emissaries. Through the medium of Champfort and the stupid maid, Mrs. Freke had learned a confused story of a man’s footsteps having been heard in Lady Delacour’s boudoir, of his being let in by Marriott secretly, of his having remained locked up there for several hours, and of the maid’s having been turned away, merely because she innocently went to open the door whilst the gentleman was in concealment. Mrs. Freke was farther informed by the same unquestionable authority, that Lady Delacour had taken a house at Twickenham, for the express purpose of meeting her lover: that Miss Portman and Marriott were the only persons who were to be of this party of pleasure.