Sharing Her Crime: A Novel. May Agnes Fleming

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      "It is well none of the servants are in this end of the house," she said, quietly; "or those loud screams would be overheard, and might give rise to disagreeable remarks."

      Receiving no answer from her companion, she turned to him, and seeing the look of horror on his ghastly face, her lip curled with involuntary scorn. It was strange she could stand there so unmoved, knowing herself to be a murderess, with the dying cries of her victim still ringing in her ears.

      They ceased at last – died away in a low, despairing moan, and then all grew still. The deep, solemn silence was more appalling than her shrieks had been, for they well knew they were stilled forever in death.

      "All is over!" said Mrs. Oranmore, drawing a deep breath.

      "Yes," was the answer, in a voice so hoarse and unnatural, that it seemed to issue from the jaws of death.

      Again she looked at him, and again the mocking smile curled her lip.

      "Doctor," she said, quietly, "you are a greater coward than I ever took you to be. I am going in now to see her – you had better follow me, if you are not afraid."

      How sardonic was the smile which accompanied these words. Stunned, terrified as he was, it stung him, and he started after her from the room.

      They entered the chamber of the invalid. Mrs. Oranmore walked to the bed, drew back the curtains, and disclosed a frightful spectacle.

      Half sitting, half lying, in a strange, distorted attitude she had thrown herself into in her dying agony, her lips swollen and purple, her eyes protruding, her hair torn fiercely out by the roots, as she had clutched it in her fierce anguish, was Esther.

      The straining eyeballs were ghastly to look upon – the once beautiful face was now swollen and hideous, as she lay stark dead in that lonely room.

      Moment after moment passed away, while the murderers stood silently gazing on their victim. The deep silence of midnight was around – nothing was heard save the occasional drifting of the snow against the windows.

      A stern, grave smile hovered on the lips of Mrs. Oranmore, as she gazed on the convulsed face of the dead girl. Drawing the quilt at last over her, she turned away, saying, mockingly:

      "Where now, Esther Oranmore, is the beauty of which you were so proud? This stark form and ghastly face is now all that remains of the beauty and heiress of Squire Erliston. Such shall be the fate, sooner or later, of all who dare to thwart me."

      Her eyes flamed upon the shrinking man beside her, with an expression that made him quake. A grim smile of self-satisfied power broke over her dark face as she observed it, and her voice had a steely tone of command, as she said:

      "Now for the child. It must be immediately disposed of."

      "And she?" said the doctor, pointing to the bed.

      "I shall attend to that."

      "If you like, madam, I will save you the trouble."

      "No, sir," she replied, sharply; "though in life my enemy, her remains shall never be given up to the dissecting-knife. I have not forgotten she is a gentleman's daughter, and as such she shall be interred. Now you may go. Wrap the child in this, and —return without her!"

      "You shall be obeyed, madam," said Doctor Wiseman, catching the infection of her reckless spirit. He stooped and raised the infant, who was still in a deep sleep.

      Muffling it carefully in the shawl, he followed the lady from the room, and cautiously quitted the house.

      The storm had now passed away; the piercing wind had died out, and the midnight moon sailed in unclouded majesty through the deep blue sky, studded with myriads of burning stars.

      The cool night air restored him completely to himself.

      Holding the still sleeping infant closer in his arms, he hurried on, until he stood on the sloping bank commanding a view of the bay.

      The tide was rising. The waves came splashing in on the beach – the white foam gleaming coldly brilliant in the moonlight. The waters beyond looked cold, and sluggish, and dark – moaning in a strange, dreary way as they swept over the rocks. How could he commit the slumbering infant to those merciless waves? Depraved and guilty as he was, he hesitated. It lay so confidingly in his arms, slumbering so sweetly, that his heart smote him. Yet it must be done.

      He descended carefully to the beach, and laying his living bundle on the snowy sands, stood like Hagar, a distance off, to see it die.

      In less than ten minutes, he knew, the waves would have washed it far away.

      As he stood, with set teeth and folded arms, the merry jingle of approaching sleigh-bells broke upon his startled ear. They were evidently approaching the place where he stood. Moved by a sudden impulse of terror, he turned and fled from the spot.

      Guilt is ever cowardly. He sped on, scarcely knowing whither he went, until in his blind haste he ran against a watchman.

      The unexpected shock sent both rolling over in the snow, which considerably cooled the fever in Doctor Wiseman's blood. The indignant "guardian of night," with an exclamation which wouldn't look well in print, laid hold of the doctor's collar. But there was vigor in Doctor Wiseman's dwarfed body, and strength in his long, lean arms; and with a violent effort he wrenched himself free from the policeman's tenacious grasp, and fled.

      "Charley" started in pursuit, and seeing he would soon be overtaken, the doctor suddenly darted into the high, dark portico of an imposing-looking house, and soon had the satisfaction of beholding the angry watchman tear past like a comet, in full pursuit.

      CHAPTER III.

      THE ASTROLOGER

      "He fed on poisons, and they had no power,

      But were a kind of nutriment; he lived

      Through that which had been death to many men.

      To him the book of night was opened wide,

      And voices from the deep abyss revealed

      A marvel and a secret." – Byron.

      Having assured himself that all danger was past, Doctor Wiseman was about to start from the building, when a sudden moonbeam fell on the polished door-plate, and he started back to see the name it revealed.

      "The astrologer, Ali Hamed!" he exclaimed. "Now what foul fiend has driven me to his accursed den to-night? 'Tis said he can read the future; and surely no man ever needed to know it more than I. Can it be that the hand of destiny has driven me here, to show me what is yet to come. Well, it is useless going home or attempting to sleep to-night; so, Ali Hamed, I shall try what your magical black art can do for me."

      He rang the bell sharply, but moment after moment passed, and no one came. Losing all patience, he again rang a deafening peal, which echoed and re-echoed through the house.

      Presently the sound of footsteps clattering down stairs struck his ear, and in a moment more the door was cautiously opened, and a dark, swarthy face protruded through the opening. Seeing but one, he stood aside to allow him to enter, and then securely locked and bolted the door.

      "The astrologer, Ali Hamed, resides here?" said the doctor.

      Accustomed to visitors at all hours of the day and night, the man betrayed no surprise СКАЧАТЬ