"Mr. Ramsden," said Newton, "I am requested by the owner of my vessel to sail immediately; but if you think that the life of Mr. Spinney is seriously in danger, I will throw up the command of the vessel, rather than leave my mother under such an accumulation of disasters. I beg as a favour that you will not disguise the truth."
"You may sail this minute, if you please, Mr. Forster; I am happy to be able to relieve your mind. Mr. Spinney is doing very well, and you'll see him at his desk on the first Sunday of your return."
"Then I am off: good-bye, Mr. Ramsden; many thanks."
With a lightened heart, Newton leapt into the skiff which was to carry him on board of the sloop; and in less than half an hour was standing away to the southward before a fine wind, to execute the orders which he had received.
Ramsden remained a few minutes at the door, until he saw Newton ascend the side of the vessel; then he entered, and was received by Betsy.
"Well, Betsy, you agreed to make Mrs. Forster believe that Mr. Spinney was dead; but we little thought that such would really be the case."
"Lord love you, sir! why, you don't say so?"
"I do, indeed, Betsy; but mind, we must keep it a secret for the present, until we can get Mrs. Forster out of the way. How is she this morning?"
"Oh, very stiff, and very cross, sir."
"I'll go up to her," replied Ramsden; "but recollect, Betsy, that you do not mention it to a soul;" and Ramsden ascended the stairs.
"Well, Mrs. Forster, how do you feel this morning? do you think you could get up?"
"Get up, Mr. Ramsden! not to save my soul—I can't even turn on my side."
"Very sorry to hear it, indeed," replied the surgeon; "I was in hopes that you might have been able to bear a journey."
"Bear a journey, Mr. Ramsden! why bear a journey?"
"I am sorry to inform you that Mr. Spinney's gone—poor old man! There must be a coroner's inquest. Now, it would be as well if you were not to be found, for the verdict will be 'Wilful Murder.'"
"O dear! O dear!" exclaimed Mrs. Forster, jumping out of her bed with fright, and wringing her hands: "What can I do?—what can I do?"
"At present it is a secret, Mrs. Forster, but it cannot be so long. Miss Dragwell, who feels for you very much, begged me not to say a word about it. She will call and consult with you, if you would like to see her. Sad thing indeed, Mrs. Forster, to be placed in such a situation by a foolish husband."
"You may well say that, Mr. Ramsden," replied the lady, with asperity; "he is the greatest fool that ever God made! Everyone knows what a sweet temper I was before I married; but flesh and blood cannot bear what I am subjected to."
"Would you like to see Miss Dragwell?"
"Yes, very much; I always thought her a very nice girl;—a little wild—a little forward indeed, and apt to be impertinent; but still, rather a nice girl."
"Well, then, I will tell her to call, and the sooner the better, for when it is known, the whole town will be in an uproar. I should not be surprised if they attacked the house—the people will be so indignant."
"I don't wonder at it," replied Mrs. Forster; "nothing can excuse such provocation as I receive from my husband, stupid wretch!"
"Good morning, Mrs. Forster; do you think, then, that you could bear moving?"
"O yes! O yes! But where am I to go?"
"That I really cannot form an idea of—you had better consult with Miss Dragwell. Depend upon it, Mrs. Forster, that I will be most happy to render you all my assistance in this unfortunate dilemma."
"You're very good," snarled Mrs. Forster: and Ramsden quitted the room.
I have one or two acquaintances, to whom, if I wish a report to be circulated, I immediately impart the substance as a most profound secret; and I find that by these means it obtains a much more extensive circulation than if I sent it to the newspapers.
Ramsden was aware of Betsy's cackling propensities; and long before he quitted Mrs. Forster, it was generally believed throughout the good town of Overton that Mr. Spinney, although he had not been killed outright, as reported in the first instance, had subsequently died of the injuries received from this modern Xantippe.
Mrs. Forster had half an hour to reflect upon her supposed awkward situation; and to drive away thought, had sent for Nicholas, whom she loaded with the bitterest invectives, when Miss Dragwell was announced.
"See, sir," continued Mrs. Forster, "the condition to which you have reduced a fond and faithful wife—one that has so studied your interests; one—"
"Yes, indeed," added Miss Dragwell, who heard the attack as she ascended the stairs, and took up the cause of Mrs. Forster to obtain her confidence—"yes, indeed, Mr. Forster, see the consequences of your folly, your smoking, and your drinking. Pray leave the room, sir; I wonder how Mrs. Forster can bear the sight of you!"
Nicholas stated, and was about to throw in a detached word or two, by way of vindication, when a furious "Begone!" from his wife occasioned a precipitate retreat.
"We have all been consulting about this sad business, my dear Mrs. Forster," commenced Miss Dragwell; "and after much consideration have hit upon the only plan by which you may escape the penalty of the law. Yes, my dear ma'am," continued Miss Dragwell, in the most bland and affectionate voice, "it is unwise to conceal the truth from you; the depositions of my father and Mr. Hilton, when they are called upon, will be such that 'Wilful Murder' must be returned, and you—(the young lady faltered, and put up her handkerchief)—you must inevitably be hanged!"
"Hanged!" screamed Mrs. Forster.
"Yes, hanged—'hanged by the neck until you are dead! and the Lord have mercy upon your soul! 'that will be your sentence," replied the young lady, sobbing;—"such an awful, such a disgraceful death for a woman too!"
"O Lord, O Lord!" cried Mrs. Forster, who was now really frightened.
"What will become of me?"
"You will go to another and a better world, as my papa says in his sermons; I believe that the pain is not very great—but the disgrace—"
Mrs. Forster burst into tears. "Save me! save me, Miss Dragwell!—Oh! Oh! that stupid Nicholas, Oh! Oh!"
"My dear Mrs. Forster, we have all agreed at the parsonage that there is but one method."
"Name it, my dear Miss Dragwell, name it!" cried Mrs. Forster, imploringly.
"You must pretend to be mad, and then there will be a verdict of insanity; but you must carry it through everything, or it will be thought you are shamming. Mr. Ramsden is acquainted with Dr. B—, who has charge of the asylum at D—. It is only nine miles off: he will take you there, and when the coroner's inquest is over you can return. It will be supposed then to have been only temporary derangement. Do you like the proposal?"
"Why, I have been mad for a long time," replied Mrs. Forster; "the conduct of my husband and my son has been too much for my nerves; but I don't like the idea of actually going to a madhouse. Could not—"
"O dear, marm!" cried Betsy, running into the room, "there's a whole posse of people about the house; they want to take you to the town jail, for murdering Mr. Spinney. What shall I say to them? I'm feared they'll break in."
"Go and tell them that Mrs. Forster is too ill to be taken out of bed, and that she is out of her senses—d'ye hear, Betsy, tell them all she is stark staring mad!"
"Yes, I will, marm," replied Betsy, wiping her eyes as she left the room.
Miss Dragwell walked to the window.