“Doctor!”
“You have promised to be obedient, Violet. Now trust me. I believe that I can resuscitate your mother, but no one outside must know it, if you would apprehend her would-be murderer. I want you to appear, and be, perfectly ignorant of all that takes place. I will inform you of all that transpires—all the results—as soon as possible. Trust me, Violet.”
“I will—I do!” she sobbed.
“Listen; this is my plan: everybody must believe that your mother is really dead. I have given her a potion which will keep her quiet, and no one will suspect the truth. The potion must be administered every two hours, or the effect will wear off. I intend to keep her as she is at present for a few hours. In the meantime, Dunbar and I will fill the coffin with lead and bricks, and it shall be buried. The funeral is appointed for ten in the morning, you know. The coffin must be buried, and the public be blinded to the fact that it contains no body, otherwise the murderer will escape. I will arrange so that the lid shall be fastened down, and no one will be permitted to open it. Then, when everything is ready, I will have your mother’s unconscious body taken to my house, and there she shall be restored to health, that she may punish and expose her would-be murderer. Violet, I believe from the bottom of my heart, that this man, Gilbert Warrington, was the man who attempted your mother’s life.”
“Oh, Heaven!”
“I believe it. But it can not be proven without her assistance, no matter how clever a detective we hire.”
“But,” panted Violet, wildly, “what object would Gilbert Warrington have to attempt such a crime? It does not seem——”
“It is quite possible,” interrupted the physician, hastily. “He has been her evil genius for years, though what is the secret of the power that he holds over her I could never learn. She guarded it as though it would be death to reveal it. I have begged her to confide in me—to give me the right to protect her—but she refused absolutely, and went on in silence, with that black secret, whatever it may be, hanging over her head like a shadow. I believe that Warrington has hounded her down to her death. I believe that he has attempted her murder, and then, wishing to throw suspicion upon her and make the world believe that she committed suicide, he placed the chloral bottle at her side. He was her bitter enemy in life, and in death would blacken her good name. Violet, what was Gilbert Warrington to your mother? Do you know or suspect?”
Violet shook her head. A slow horror stole over her heart as she remembered her promise to obey this villain implicitly in whatever he might bid her to do in regard to her future. This promise was binding; to a girl like Violet Arleigh it seemed impossible to break a solemn obligation. But she trembled with terror, and her heart was sore afraid.
“Go to your own room, Violet,” continued the physician, after a pause. “Dunbar and I will attend to the rest. You must try and sleep, too. Remember, my dear, that your mother is not dead, and all that human power can do shall be done for her. Good-night, my dear.”