Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 22.
Back to Nothing but Money!
The woman's aspect changed instantly, when alone. The cold eyes and face flashed and gleamed; the placid manner became disturbed; a look of satisfaction — almost of triumph — flitted over her countenance. Quickly she proceeded to the work of changing the garments of Mrs. Guyton, and getting all things in readiness for removal. Now and then, she would stop and consider the pale, deathlike face before her — not in pity; not in fear; not in hate; but with a look of searching inquiry, in which doubt and desire blended. There was a covert eagerness in her manner, seen in the unusual celerity with which she hovered about the bed, and the occasional unsteadiness of her hands as they moved over the person of Mrs. Guyton. Her part of the work was done, long before Guyton was ready, or the carriage at the door.
"Has she stirred yet?" was the whispered question of Mr. Guyton, as he came into the chamber, when all was prepared. "No, sir."
Guyton crossed to the bed, where his wife lay, and stood regarding her for a few moments. An image of death, not life, was before him. His heart gave a strong throb, and he turned a face of alarm upon Mrs. Harte. They looked at each other in silence for some moments.
"Does her heart beat?" replied the woman, who understood him.
Guyton took his wife's small, wasted hand in his, and placed his fingers on the wrist.
"I don't find any pulse," said he, turning pale. His voice was disturbed.
"Lay your hand over her heart."
Guyton obeyed the suggestion.
"Don't you feel it beat?"
"No!"
"What!" And Mrs. Harte thrust her hand in, pushing that of Mr. Guyton aside. Suspended breaths marked the intense interest of both. "It beats, sir! There! Put your hand there!" She spoke in a whisper, quickly.
"Yes — r yes. I feel it! But how very low and faint," said Guyton, as he withdrew his hand and stood up, in doubt and irresolution. Then he laid his fingers again over the artery on her wrist. Not the feeblest thread of motion touched the alert sense of feeling.
"You gave her too much, I fear," said Mrs. Harte, letting her pale, blue eyes rest firmly upon him.
The face of Mr. Guyton turned still whiter.
"In that case — " and the woman made a step backwards, pausing with the sentence half finished.
"How in that case?" Guyton felt himself already in her power.
"She may not rally!" said the woman.
"The Doctor is responsible. I only followed his prescription."
"How often did she take the medicine?"
"Three times."
"How much did you give her each time?"
"Only a few drops."
Mrs. Harte crossed the room to where the vial of morphine still remained on the mantel piece, and taking it in her hand, held it up to the light. It was one-third empty.
"Was it full when you received it?" asked Mrs. Harte.
"No." But the manner of his answer betrayed the truth to Mrs. Harte.
"There has been an overdose," she said, confidently. "I'm afraid you mistook the amount of vital power in her system."
"If there has been a mistake, it lies at the Doctor's door, not mine," answered Guyton, in too apparent alarm.
"No dose is marked on the label." The woman's eyes turned from the vial, and again dwelt, searchingly, on Guyton's face. He quailed a little, and she saw it.
"I think," said Mrs. Harte, speaking with deliberation, "that I understand the case, which has assumed a very serious aspect. You did not see the Doctor at all."
Guyton startled, frowned, and was about to repel the assertion, when the housekeeper lifted her hand, saying, with perfect coolness —
"A moment, sir, if you please. If the Doctor had ordered morphine, the dose would have been indicated on the prescription, and the druggist would not have failed to mark it on the label. The truth is, you procured the drug without consultation, and administered it in too strong doses. Am I not right? You had better trust me fully, if you want my aid. I must see where I stand, and the actual peril in my way; before I take a step forward. You have put yourself in a very dangerous position, sir!"
A tremor seized the nerves of Mr. Guyton. The feeble denial attempted, broke down before half of it was spoken. He could not go on, with the cold, searching eyes of a woman, whose character he was only now beginning to understand, resting on him like a spell.
"You meant no harm — only good," continued Mrs. Harte. "That I understand clearly. But intentions are out of the pale of consideration now. Actions and effects will only be regarded. In order to get Mrs. Guyton into a condition for removal to an Asylum — you gave her morphine!"
"The morphine was taken to relieve pain," said Guyton.
"Ostensibly! That was the plea. The real object was to accomplish something beyond. You gave her too much, and now her life is in peril. Now, do you want my assistance or not? Heaven knows, if I consulted my own feelings, I would pass, instantly, from under your roof. Say that you do not care for my aid in the matter — and a heavy burden will be removed. But, being here, I will not shrink from duty, if called on for help."
"What shall be done?" asked Guyton, showing symptoms of a helpless bewilderment of mind. "It will hardly be safe to remove her to Mount Hope, seeing that she is sinking so rapidly."
"No. She might be dead before we reached there! The Doctor had better be called in."
"Is that necessary?" asked Guyton.
"Yes. It will not do to make any mystery with him. Let him understand the naked facts in the case. The maddening neuralgia, and the doses of morphia. Say nothing of course, about any object beyond."
"Hadn't I better say, that she took the doses herself?" asked Guyton, actually trembling in the face of peril.
"No. All attempts at concealment will involve greater danger. Let the Doctor clearly understand the case, and he will exonerate you from blame, and give the medical certificate required for burial in case she does not live."
Mrs. Harte took up the vial of morphine again.
"Are you certain it was not full?" she asked.
"Positive," answered Guyton.
"The druggist may be referred to." Mrs. Harte looked at him meaningly, and he understood her.
A pause ensued, in which each regarded the other.
"There is alcohol in the house," said Mrs. Harte, breaking the silence, "and it will be prudent, I think, to add a couple of spoonfuls to this vial. Go, or send for the Doctor. I will see that the vial is replenished."
"Then, it is understood that the removal is abandoned for the present?"
"Of course. That cannot be thought of for a moment. The Doctor must be gotten, and speedily. Don't lose another instant, sir. Everything depends on promptitude now."
Thus enjoined, Mr. Guyton went hastily out, and jumping into the carriage which was in waiting at the door to remove his wife, ordered the driver to go with all speed to the residence of his family physician. In twenty minutes afterwards, the Doctor and Mr. Guyton entered the chamber where the unconscious woman was lying.
"It is too late!" said the Doctor, after sitting for a little while at the bedside. "No human skill can save her."
"In heaven's name, no, Doctor! Don't say that!" And Guyton exhibited what seemed uncontrollable anguish. You must save her!"
But, the Doctor shook his head soberly, and then asked — "How much did she take?"
"Only a few drops, sir, as you can see," replied Mrs. Harte, producing the vial. The Doctor held the vial towards the light, and examined it for a moment; then handed it back with the remark —
"The symptoms indicate a much larger dose."
"Was there no heart disease?" asked the housekeeper.
The Doctor turned and looked at her sharply for a moment; but her cold eyes did not shrink nor waver.
"You gave an emetic, I understand?" He looked from the woman to Mr. Guyton.
"Oh yes, sir, immediately on finding that she had taken too much."
"But no action of the stomach followed?"
"None whatever."
"What else was done?" The Doctor referred to Mrs. Harte.
"Nothing, sir. We were so alarmed and confused — we did not know what to do. The effect of a few drops was so extraordinary. I've never seen anything like it in my life. There must have been some organic trouble."
An attempt was now made by the Doctor to give an emetic — but without effect. Death was too near and too certain. In less than half an hour, the curtain fell over this tragedyof life, and a weary head and an aching heart were forever at rest.
Back to Nothing but Money!