"Was Tom Clark mistaken? Was it Fancy? Was it Fear?... One night he went to a theatre, but left it in a hurry, when the actor, who was playing Macbeth, looked straight into his private box and said:
"'The times have been that, when the brains were out
The man would die—and there an end;
But now they rise again, with twenty mortal murders
On their crowns, to push us from our seats!'
And the words pushed Clark out of the house, deadly sick—fearfully pale; for the avenging furies, roused at last, were at that very moment lashing his guilty soul to madness—and Shakspeare's lines, like double-edged daggers, went plunging, cutting, leaping, flying through every vault and cavern of his spirit. He rushed from the place, reached his house, and now: 'The bowl, the bowl! Wine, give me wine, ruby wine.' They gave it, and it failed! Stronger drink, much stronger, now became his refuge, and in stupefying his brain he stultified his conscience. His torture was not to last forever, for by dint of debauchery his sensitive soul went to sleep, and the brute man took the ascendant. Conscience slept profoundly. His heart grew case-hardened, cold and callous as an ice-berg. He married a Voice, and a Figure, as heartless as himself; became a politician—which completely finished him; but still, several handsome donations to a fashionable church—just think of it!—had the effect of procuring him the reputation of sanctity, which lie he, by dint of repetition, at last prevailed upon himself to believe. Thus we leave him for awhile, and return to the chamber in which was the little window whose upper sash was down.
PART IV.
THE DREAM OF BETSEY CLARK.
"Madame, awake, it will be remembered, had come to the conclusion to settle Tom's coffee—and hash, at the same time, with a dose or two of ratsbane, or some similar delicate condiment; and now, in her dream, she thought all her plans were so well and surely made as to defy detection, and laugh outright at failure.
"In California there is a small but very troublesome rodent known to Science as 'Pseudo-stoma bursarius,' and to the vulgar world as 'gopher'—a sort of burrowing rat, nearly as mischievous and quite as wicked, for the little wretches have a settled and special penchant for boring holes in the ground, particularly in the vicinity of fruit trees. My friend, Mr. Rumford, who has a very fine orchard in Fruit Vale, Contra Costa, just across the bay from Santa Blarneeo, recently assured me that the rascals make it a point to destroy young trees, not only without compunction, but even without saying, 'By your leave.' Now it so happened that Clark's place was overstocked with the pestilent animals alluded to, and the proprietors had, time and again, threatened the whole race with extermination, by means of arsenic, phosphor-paste, or some other effective poison, but had never carried the resolution into practice. This fact was seized on by Mrs. Clark, as a capital point d'appui. Accordingly, with a dull hand-saw, the lady hacked a few dozen of the very choicest young trees, in such a way as to make them look like unmistakable gopher-work, thus subjecting the brutes to charges whereof they were as innocent as two unborn babes. Gophers and the Devil have to answer for a great deal that properly belong to other parties. Her act was a grand stroke of policy. She meant that Tom should voluntarily get the poison, which she intended he—not the gophers—should take at the very earliest possible opportunity. She didn't mean to purchase arsenic—oh, no, she knew too much for that! The ravage was speedily discovered by Clark. He raved, stamped his foot in his wrath, turned round on his heel, pulled his cap over his eyes, ejaculated, 'Dod dern 'em!' started for the city, and that very night returned, bearer of six bits' worth of the strongest and deadliest kind of poison—quite as deadly, almost as strong, as that which stupid fools drink in corner stores at six cents a glass.
"That night about half the poison was mixed and set. Twelve hours thereafter there was great tribulation and mourning in Gopherdom; for scores of the little gentry ate of it, liked the flavor, tried a little more—got thirsty—they drank freely (most fools do!), felt uncomfortable, got angry, swelled—with indignation and poisoned meal! and not a few of them immediately (to quote Mr. Clark), 'failed in business; that is to say, they burst—burst all to thunder! Alas, poor rodents!
"Next morning Tom's coffee was particularly good. Betsey fairly surpassed herself, in fact she came it rather too strong. About ten o'clock he felt thirsty, and inclined toward cold water; for the weather was hot, and so were his 'coppers,' to quote the Ancient Mariner. He would have taken much water, only that Betsey dissuaded him, and said: 'It was just like him, to go and get sick by drinking ever so much cold water! Why didn't he take switchel, or, what was much better, cold coffee, with plenty of milk in it—and sugar, of course;' and so he (Tom) tried her prescription, liked it, took a little more, and that night followed the Gophers!