Jezebel's Daughter

With painful efforts, with many intervals of struggling breath, she swallowed the contents of the glass, by a few drops at a time. He held it up under the shadowed lamplight, and saw that it was empty.

As he laid her head back on the pillows, he ventured to touch her cold cheek with his lips. 'Has she taken it?' the woman asked. He was just able to answer 'Yes'—just able to look once more at the dear face on the pillow. The tumult of contending emotions, against which he had struggled thus far, overpowered his utmost resistance. He ran to hide the hysterical passion in him, forcing its way to relief in sobs and cries, on the landing outside.

In the calmer moments that followed, the fear still haunted him that Madame Fontaine might discover the empty compartment in the medicine-chest—might search every room in the house for the lost bottle—and might find it empty. Even if he broke it, and threw the fragments into the dusthole, the fragments might be remarked for their beautiful blue color, and the discovery might follow. Where could he hide it?

While he was still trying to answer that question, the hours of business came to an end, and the clerks were leaving the offices below. He heard them talking about the hard frost as they went out. One of them said there were blocks of ice floating down the river already. The river! It was within a few minutes' walk of the house. Why not throw the bottle into the river?

He waited until there was perfect silence below, and then stole downstairs. As he opened the door, a strange man met him, ascending the house-steps, with a little traveling bag in his hand.

'Is this Mr. Keller's?' asked the strange man.

He was a jolly-looking old fellow with twinkling black eyes and a big red nose. His breath was redolent of the smell of wine, and his thick lips expanded into a broad grin, when he looked at Jack.

'My name's Schwartz,' he said; 'and here in this bag are my sister's things for the night.'

'Who is your sister?' Jack inquired.

Schwartz laughed. 'Quite right, little man, how should you know who she is? My sister's the nurse. She's hired by Doctor Dormann, and she'll be here in an hour's time. I say! that's a pretty bottle you're hiding there under your coat. Is there any wine in it?'

Jack began to tremble. He had been discovered by a stranger. Even the river might not be deep enough to keep his secret now!

'The cold has got into my inside,' proceeded the jolly old man. 'Be a good little fellow—and give us a drop!'

'I haven't got any wine in it,' Jack answered.

Schwartz laid his forefinger confidentially along the side of his big red nose. 'I understand,' he said, 'you were just going out to get some.' He put his sister's bag on one of the chairs in the hall, and took Jack's arm in the friendliest manner. 'Suppose you come along with me?' he suggested. 'I am the man to help you to the best tap of wine in Frankfort. Bless your heart! you needn't feel ashamed of being in my company. My sister's a most respectable woman. And what do you think I am? I'm one of the city officers. Ho! ho! just think of that! I'm not joking, mind. The regular Night Watchman at the Deadhouse is ill in bed, and they're obliged to find somebody to take his place till he gets well again. I'm the Somebody. They tried two other men—but the Deadhouse gave them the horrors. My respectable sister spoke for me, you know. 'The regular watchman will be well in a week,' she says; 'try him for a week.' And they tried me. I'm not proud, though I am a city officer. Come along—and let me carry the bottle.'

'The bottle' again! And, just as this intrusive person spoke of it, Joseph's voice was audible below, and Joseph's footsteps gave notice that he was ascending the kitchen stairs. In the utter bewilderment of the moment, Jack ran out, with the one idea of escaping the terrible possibilities of discovery in the hall. He heard the door closed behind him—then heavy boots thumping the pavement at a quick trot. Before he had got twenty yards from the house, the vinous breath of Schwartz puffed over his shoulder, and the arm of the deputy-night-watchman took possession of him again.

'Not too fast—I'm nimble on my legs for a man of my age—but not too fast,' said his new friend. 'You're just the sort of little man I like. My sister will tell you I take sudden fancies to people of your complexion. My sister's a most respectable woman. What's your name?—Jack? A capital name! Short, with a smack in it like the crack of a whip. Do give me the bottle!' He took it this time, without waiting to have it given to him. 'There! might drop it, you know,' he said. 'It's safe in my friendly hands. Where are you going to? You don't deal, I hope, at the public-house up that way? A word in your ear—the infernal scoundrel waters his wine. Here's the turning where the honest publican lives. I have the truest affection for him. I have the truest affection for you. Would you like to see the Deadhouse, some night? It's against the rules; but that don't matter. The cemetery overseer is a deal too fond of his bed to turn out these cold nights and look after the watchman. It's just the right place for me. There's nothing to do but to drink, when you have got the liquor; and to sleep, when you haven't. The Dead who come our way, my little friend, have one great merit. We are supposed to help them, if they're perverse enough to come to life again before they're buried. There they lie in our house, with one end of the line tied to their fingers, and the other end at the spring of the alarm-bell. And they have never rung the bell yet—never once, bless their hearts, since the Deadhouse was built! Come and see me in the course of the week, and we'll drink a health to our quiet neighbors.'

They arrived at the door of the public-house.

'You've got some money about you, I suppose?' said Schwartz.

Madame Fontaine's generosity, when she gave Jack the money to buy a pair of gloves, had left a small surplus in his pocket. He made a last effort to escape from the deputy-watchman. 'There's the money,' he said. 'Give me back the bottle, and go and drink by yourself.'

Schwartz took him by the shoulder, and surveyed him from head to foot by the light of the public-house lamp. 'Drink by myself?' he repeated. 'Am I a jolly fellow, or am I not? Yes, or No?'

'Yes,' said Jack, trying hard to release himself.

Schwartz tightened his hold. 'Did you ever hear of a jolly fellow, who left his friend at the public-house door?' he asked.

'If you please, sir, I don't drink,' Jack pleaded.

Schwartz burst into a great roar of laughter, and kicked open the door of the public-house. 'That's the best joke I ever heard in my life,' he said. 'We've got money enough to fill the bottle, and to have a glass a-piece besides.