I did not hesitate to interrupt her. “Mrs. Belden,” I said, “I shall not try to mitigate the blow. A woman who, in the face of the most urgent call from law and justice, can receive into her house and harbor there a witness of such importance as Hannah, cannot stand in need of any great preparation for hearing that her efforts, have been too successful, that she has accomplished her design of suppressing valuable testimony, that law and justice are outraged, and that the innocent woman whom this girl’s evidence might have saved stands forever compromised in the eyes of the world, if not in those of the officers of the law.”
Her eyes, which had never left me during this address, flashed wide with dismay.
“What do you mean?” she cried. “I have intended no wrong; I have only tried to save people. I—I—But who are you? What have you got to do with all this? What is it to you what I do or don’t do? You said you were a lawyer. Can it be you are come from Mary Leavenworth to see how I am fulfilling her commands, and—”
“Mrs. Belden,” I said, “it is of small importance now as to who I am, or for what purpose I am here. But that my words may have the more effect, I will say, that whereas I have not deceived you, either as to my name or position, it is true that I am the friend of the Misses Leavenworth, and that anything which is likely to affect them, is of interest to me. When, therefore, I say that Eleanore Leavenworth is irretrievably injured by this girl’s death—”
“Death? What do you mean? Death!”
The burst was too natural, the tone too horror-stricken for me to doubt for another moment as to this woman’s ignorance of the true state of affairs.
“Yes,” I repeated, “the girl you have been hiding so long and so well is now beyond your control. Only her dead body remains, Mrs. Belden.”
I shall never lose from my ears the shriek which she uttered, nor the wild, “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it!” with which she dashed from the room and rushed upstairs.
Nor that after-scene when, in the presence of the dead, she stood wringing her hands and protesting, amid sobs of the sincerest grief and terror, that she knew nothing of it; that she had left the girl in the best of spirits the night before; that it was true she had locked her in, but this she always did when anyone was in the house; and that if she died of any sudden attack, it must have been quietly, for she had heard no stir all night, though she had listened more than once, being naturally anxious lest the girl should make some disturbance that would arouse me.
“But you were in here this morning?” said I.
“Yes; but I didn’t notice. I was in a hurry, and thought she was asleep; so I set the things down where she could get them and came right away, locking the door as usual.”
“It is strange she should have died this night of all others. Was she ill yesterday?”
“No, sir; she was even brighter than common; more lively. I never thought of her being sick then or ever. If I had—”
“You never thought of her being sick?” a voice here interrupted. “Why, then, did you take such pains to give her a dose of medicine last night?” And Q entered from the room beyond.
“I didn’t!” she protested, evidently under the supposition it was I who had spoken. “Did I, Hannah, did I, poor girl?” stroking the hand that lay in hers with what appeared to be genuine sorrow and regret.
“How came she by it, then? Where she did she get it if you didn’t give it to her?”
This time she seemed to be aware that someone besides myself was talking to her, for, hurriedly rising, she looked at the man with a wondering stare, before replying.
“I don’t know who you are, sir; but I can tell you this, the girl had no medicine—took no dose; she wasn’t sick last night that I know of.”
“Yet I saw her swallow a powder.”
“Saw her!—the world is crazy, or I am—saw her swallow a powder! How could you see her do that or anything else? Hasn’t she been shut up in this room for twenty-four hours?”
“Yes; but with a window like that in the roof, it isn’t so very difficult to see into the room, madam.”
“Oh,” she cried, shrinking, “I have a spy in the house, have I? But I deserve it; I kept her imprisoned in four close walls, and never came to look at her once all night. I don’t complain; but what was it you say you saw her take? medicine? poison?”
“I didn’t say poison.”
“But you meant it. You think she has poisoned herself, and that I had a hand in it!”
“No,” I hastened to remark, “he does not think you had a hand in it. He says he saw the girl herself swallow something which he believes to have been the occasion of her death, and only asks you now where she obtained it.”
“How can I tell? I never gave her anything; didn’t know she had anything.”
Somehow, I believed her, and so felt unwilling to prolong the present interview, especially as each moment delayed the action which I felt it incumbent upon us to take. So, motioning Q to depart upon his errand, I took Mrs. Belden by the hand and endeavored to lead her from the room. But she resisted, sitting down by the side of the bed with the expression, “I will not leave her again; do not ask it; here is my place, and here I will stay,” while Q, obdurate for the first time, stood staring severely upon us both, and would not move, though I urged him again to make haste, saying that
