The man now smiled, thinking his master jested; but his expression grew more questioning and anxious as the bright eyes turned upon him glittering in anger.
"Why am I not obeyed? Bring in the skeleton, I repeat, and place it behind my sister's chair. It is in the house; you will have no difficulty in finding it. It has lurked here long. I have been aware of its presence these many months,—always following, following my dear Edith,—a shadow in her steps. You see how young and fair she is; but it is all hollow—ashes—coffin-dust! She does not know of it; she has never even turned her head when it lurked behind her; but to-night she must make its acquaintance. It will not longer be put off. Our feast is nearly over. Bring it in, Thompson, and we will salute it."
The steward, with a puzzled look, turned from one to another of the company. Miss Marchand had risen to her feet, and was regarding her brother with terrified eyes, stretching out her hands toward him. The doctor, too, arose, not in excitement, but with commingled pain and resolution stamped upon his features; while his gaze rested upon the face of St. Victor until the eyes of the young man were riveted and arrested by the doctor's demeanor. A flush then diffused itself gradually over Marchand's pale countenance; his thin nostrils quivered; his fingers twitched and trembled and sought his bosom, as if in search of something concealed there. Then he laughed once more that short, nervous laugh so significant to the physician's ears, and cried, in a high tone,—
"So, Edith, you did not know that you were going mad? I did. I've watched you night and day this long time. I have all along been afraid it would end as it has—on Christmas night. That was the day our father tried to murder our mother. An anniversary, then, we have to-night celebrated. Ha, ha! And you didn't know the skeleton was awaiting admittance to the banquet!"
His eyes gleamed with a light at once of delight and with malice; but he quietly added,—
"But I shall not harm you, you demented thing, you beautiful insanity. There! doctor, didn't I tell you to watch her—to read her—to comprehend the subtle thing? So full of art and duplicity! But look at her now—now! She is as mad as the serpent which has poisoned itself with its own fangs—mad—mad! O God! has it come to this? But, I knew it—knew the skeleton was her skeleton—the bones without her beautiful flesh. We've had enough of it now. Take it away, Thompson,—hurry it away!"
"Appear to obey him. Pretend that you take something from the room," said Dr. Graham, in an undertone, to the servant, while St. Victor's eyes were fixed glaring and lurid upon his trembling, agonized, speechless sister.
The skeleton had, in truth, appeared at the Christmas feast.
Laying his hand firmly upon the young man's wrist the doctor said,—
"Mr. Marchand, you're not well, to-night. You are over-fatigued. Shall we go upstairs?"