Part 12 (1/2)
”Then the rector accepted the verdict of the jury at the inquest. Why should not we? A man who is unsound in his mind is not responsible for his actions.”
”I suppose not.”
”Much less, then, I who live ten miles away.”
”I do not say that you are responsible for his death, but for the condition of mind that led him to do the dreadful deed. Really, Julia, you are one of those into whose head or heart only by a surgical operation could the thought be introduced that you could be in the wrong. A hypodermic syringe would be too weak an instrument to effect such a radical change in you. Everyone else may be in the wrong, you--never. As for me, I cannot get young Hattersley out of my head.”
”And I,” retorted Julia with asperity, for her aunt's words had stung her--”I, for my part, do not give him a thought.”
She had hardly spoken the words before a chill wind began to pa.s.s round her. She drew the Barege shawl that was over her bare shoulders closer about her, and said--”Auntie! is the gla.s.s down on your side?”
”No, Julia; why do you ask?”
”There is such a draught.”
”Draught!--I do not feel one; perhaps the window on your side hitches.”
”Indeed, that is all right. It is blowing harder and is deadly cold. Can one of the front panes be broken?”
”No. Rogers would have told me had that been the case. Besides, I can see that they are sound.”
The wind of which Julia complained swirled and whistled about her. It increased in force; it plucked at her shawl and slewed it about her throat; it tore at the lace on her dress. It s.n.a.t.c.hed at her hair, it wrenched it away from the pins, the combs that held it in place; one long tress was lashed across the face of Miss Flemming. Then the hair, completely released, eddied up above the girl's head, and next moment was carried as a drift before her, blinding her. Then--a sudden explosion, as though a gun had been fired into her ear; and with a scream of terror she sank back among the cus.h.i.+ons. Miss Flemming, in great alarm, pulled the checkstring, and the carriage stopped. The footman descended from the box and came to the side. The old lady drew down the window and said: ”Oh! Phillips, bring the lamp. Something has happened to Miss Demant.”
The man obeyed, and sent a flood of light into the carriage. Julia was lying back, white and senseless. Her hair was scattered over her face, neck, and shoulders; the flowers that had been stuck in it, the pins that had fastened it in place, the pads that had given shape to the convolutions lay strewn, some on her lap, some in the rug at the bottom of the carriage.
”Phillips!” ordered the old lady in great agitation, ”tell Rogers to turn the horses and drive home at once; and do you run as fast as you can for Dr. Crate.”
A few minutes after the carriage was again in motion, Julia revived. Her aunt was chafing her hand.
”Oh, aunt!” she said, ”are all the gla.s.ses broken?”
”Broken--what gla.s.ses?”
”Those of the carriage--with the explosion.”
”Explosion, my dear!”
”Yes. That gun which was discharged. It stunned me. Were you hurt?”
”I heard no gun--no explosion.”
”But I did. It was as though a bullet had been discharged into my brain.
I wonder that I escaped. Who can have fired at us?”
”My dear, no one fired. I heard nothing. I know what it was. I had the same experience many years ago. I slept in a damp bed, and awoke stone deaf in my right ear. I remained so for three weeks. But one night when I was at a ball and was dancing, all at once I heard a report as of a pistol in my right ear, and immediately heard quite clearly again. It was wax.”
”But, Aunt Elizabeth, I have not been deaf.”
”You have not noticed that you were deaf.”