The doctor had taken advantage of her sleep to steal away for a while, and in the dining-room was trying to stifle his conscience with the fumes of tobacco and the brandy, of which he drank largely and often. Thus Agnes was left alone with her sister, whose first question, asked in a whisper, was:
“Where is he,—the doctor, I mean?”
“Gone to rest,” was the reply, and Josephine continued:
“Yes, let him rest while he can. It will soon be over, and then a dungeon for him, and darkness, and blankness, and utter forgetfulness for me; Aggie, that’s all a fable about a hereafter,—a rag of mythology which recent science has torn in shreds. We do not go somewhere when we die; we perish like the brutes.”
“Oh, no, no! God forbid!” and falling on her knees, with her hands clasped together, Agnes murmured words of prayer for the soul so deluded and deceived.
“Hush, Agnes,” Josephine said, almost fiercely. “There’s more important work on hand just now than praying for one who does not want your prayers, for even if there be a hereafter, it’s now too late for me, and I care no more for it than a stone. I cannot feel, and it’s no use to try. If there is a hell, which I don’t believe, I shall go there; if there is not, then I am all right, and the sooner I am like the clods the better; but I must do one good act. Agnes, do you think Everard would come here to-night if he knew I was dying,—for I am; I feel it, and I must tell him something, which will perhaps make him think more kindly of me than he does now. Can you manage it for me?”
“No, no,” Agnes exclaimed. “He would not come here to-night of all others, because——”
She checked herself suddenly, and then added:
“Listen to the rain and the wind; did you ever hear such a storm?”
“Yes, I hear,” Josephine replied, excitedly. “It was sent for me, and I am going out on its wings, but it seems dreary to go in such a way. Oh, Aggie, if there should be a hereafter,—but there is not. We all do sleep,—sleep. But Everard, Everard,—I must see him, or maybe you would tell him when I am dead. Lock the door, Aggie; then come close to me and swear,—swear that you will tell him,—that Rossie——Oh, Agnes, I am so afraid of him,—the doctor, that I dare not say it!” and on the white face there was a look of terror such as Agnes had never seen before.