"You must have perceived, Davison, by the delicacy of my conduct from the first, how glad I should be to retain the charitable opinions of every one as long as possible; but at the same time I have a duty to perform, though a painful one, and so may you, perhaps, when called upon in a court of justice. In the mean time, however, be prudent, and don't hurt the feelings of the older servants, by any rash or premature remarks. As for strangers they don't care, and every one must know sooner or later, so that your denying facts to them would be wrong, and might invalidate your future evidence."

Davison looked half puzzled and half frightened, but said nothing.

"Doctor Harman," proceeded Geoffery, "has not been quite prudent; he has, I find from one or two neighbours who have called this morning to make inquiries, been gossiping already." And here, under pretext of repeating what the Doctor had been saying, though poor Harman, to do him justice, had not opened his lips, Geoffery, in an under voice, and with much mystery of manner, mentioned the suspicious circumstance of the paper which had fallen from Sir Alfred's bosom. As for the attempt to rinse the glass, several servants had been present at the time.

Geoffery, now thinking that he had supplied his attendant with sufficient topics of conversation for any servants' hall he might enter, ordered his horses. He had several objects in view in his morning ride, one of the principal ones, a call on business at Doctor Harman's.


CHAPTER XXV.

With what indescribable feelings of exultation did Geoffery ride through the splendid park, look back on the baronial remains of the ancient castle, and the grandeur of the modern mansion, then around them on the immeasurable extent of the grounds, the endless variety of the scenery, the magnificent, unfathomable woods, the beautiful openings, displaying in the distance the rich low pastures, with their grazing flocks; the bare hill rising beyond, crowned with herds of deer; bends of the picturesque river, with here the swan or the wild duck sailing on its smooth bosom, there a waterfall, veiling its rocky sides in spray, and clothing its surface with a sheet of foam; all, in short, on which he had so long looked with corroding envy, and fierce thirst for possession, but for many years without a hope.

He checked the bridle of his horse on the centre of a little eminence, inhaled a long draught of the fragrant air, and smiled with supercilious self-importance while he thought of the cheering probability, to which time and chance had at length given birth, that all might yet be his.

He found Doctor Harman at home, and with great solemnity and well-acted sorrow, made known to him the discoveries of the morning. The packet of arsenic being missing, Sir Alfred having been seen coming from the place where it had lain, and the still more extraordinary and, he feared, perfectly decisive circumstance of his having himself seen a packet marked arsenic in Sir Alfred's escritoire.

It was too shocking to be thought of, he said, yet how were such staggering facts as these, together with those which had previously come under the Doctor's own eye, to be got rid of? He wished to retain charitable opinions to the very last. Investigation, however, had become a duty, although he would certainly wish it to be conducted in the most delicate manner possible. In answer to an inquiry from Geoffery, the Doctor said he had already tested the dregs found in the glass, and proved them to be arsenic; to obtain full satisfaction, he added, that it would be very desirable to open the body, and examine by similar tests the contents of the stomach. "But," he proceeded "the request must come from Sir Alfred."