Mrs Forster said not a word; she quailed under dread of the report being correct. Newton and his father looked at each other; their mute anguish was expressed by covering up their faces with their hands.

  When Hilton and the curate arranged their plans for the mortification of Mrs Forster, it was considered advisable that Newton (who was not so easily to be imposed upon) should be removed out of the way. Hilton had already stated his intention to give him in charge of the vessel, and he now proposed sending him for a cargo of shingle, which was lying ready for her, about fifty miles down the coast, and which was to be delivered at Waterford. At an early hour, on the ensuing morning, he called at Forster’s house. Newton, who had not taken off his clothes, came out to meet him.

  “Well, Newton, how is your mother?” said Hilton. “I hope you are not angry with me: I certainly was the occasion of the accident, but I could not bear to see your worthy father treated in that manner.”

  “I blush to acknowledge, Mr Hilton, that she deserved it all,” replied Newton; “but I am very much alarmed about the condition of Mr Spinney. Have you heard this morning?”

  “No; but between ourselves, Newton, doctors always make the worst of their cases. I never heard of a pewter pot killing a man; he’ll do well enough, never fear. I came to tell you that I’ve a letter last night from Repton, who says that the shingle must be delivered before the tenth of next month, or the contract will be void. He desires that I will send the sloop directly, or he must employ another craft. Now, I think you had better start at once; there’s a nice fair wind for you, and you’ll be down afore night.”

  “Why, really, Mr Hilton, I do not exactly like to leave home just now,” replied Newton, thoughtfully.

  “Well, as you please, Mr Forster,” rejoined Hilton, with apparent displeasure. “I have offered you the command of the vessel, and now you object to serve my interests on the very first occasion, merely because there are a couple of broken heads!”

  “I am wrong, most certainly,” replied Newton; “I beg your pardon — I will just speak a word or two to my father, and be on board in less than half an hour.”

  “I will meet you there,” said Hilton, “and bring your papers. Be as quick as you can, or you’ll lose the first of the tide.”

  Newton returned to the house; his father made no objection to his departure; and, in fulfilment of his promise, Newton was ready to start, when he encountered Ramsden at the door.

  “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! Every one 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 — 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 stared, 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. Although the report spread by Betsy had collected a crowd opposite the house, still there was no attempt at violence.

  “I’m afraid that it’s too late,” said the young lady, turning from the window. “What a crowd! and how angry they seem to be! you must be hanged now!”

  “O no! I’ll be mad — I’ll be anything, my dear Miss Dragwell.”

  “Well, then, we must be quick — don’t put your gown on — petticoats are better — I’ll dress you up.” Miss Dragwell rummaged the drawers, and collecting a variety of feathers and coloured ribbons, pinned them over the bandages which encircled Mrs Forster’s head; then pulling out a long-tailed black coat of her husband’s, which had been condemned, forced her arms through it, and buttoned it in front. “That will do for the present,” cried Miss Dragwell; “now here’s the cat, take it in your arms, go to the window and nurse it like a baby. I’ll throw it open — you come forward and make them a curtsy; that will spread the report through the town that you are mad, and the rest will then be easy.”

  “Oh! I can’t — I can’t go to the window, I can’t indeed.”

  “I’ll open the window and speak to the people,” said Miss Dragwell; and she threw up the sash, informing the gaping multitude that Mrs Forster was quite out of her senses, but perfectly harmless.

  “Perfectly harmless, after killing a man!” observed one of the party below.

  “They won’t believe me, Mrs Forster; come, you must, or you will certainly be hanged.”

  Urged by her fears, Mrs Forster approached the window, and showed herself to the astonished crowd. “Curtsy to them,” said Miss Dragwell; holding her handkerchief before her mouth.

  Mrs Forster curtsied.

  “Smile upon them,” continued the malicious young lady.

  Mrs Forster grinned horribly.

  “Now dance your cat.”

  Mrs Forster obeyed the injunction.

  “Now give a loud shriek, and toss the cat out of window.”

  Mrs Forster uttered a hideous yell, and threw the animal at the heads of the spectators, who retreated with alarm in every direction.

  “Now burst into a fit of laughter, curtsy to them, and wave your hand, and that will be sufficient.”

  Mrs Forster obeyed the last order, and Miss Dragwell shut the window. In a few minutes the report spread that Mrs Forster had gone out of her senses; and the murder of Mr Spinney, a topic which was nearly exhausted, was dismissed for the time to dwell and comment upon the second catastrophe.

  Chapter Eight.

  Mad as the sea and wind, when both contend which is the mightier.

  Shakespeare.

  “So far we have succeeded, my dear Mrs Forster,” said Miss Dragwell; “I will now return home, and come back as soon as I can with the post-chaise. Mr Ramsden’s servant shall come with me to conduct you to the asylum, and I trust in a quarter of an hour to see you clear of these foolish people of Overton, who think that you are the party in fault: you had better remain in your room, and not appear again at the window; the crowd will disperse when they are tired of watching: good-bye, my dear Mrs Forster, good-bye.”

  Mrs Forster was in too sulky a humour to vouchsafe an answer; and Miss Dragwell quitted the house. Betsy had taken advantage of the turmoil and the supposed lunacy of her mistress, to gossip in the neighbourhood. Nicholas Forster was in the shop, but took no notice of Miss Dragwell as she passed through. He appeared to have forgotten all that had occurred, and was very busy filing at his bench. There we must leave him, and follow the motions of the mischief-loving Miss Dragwell.

  Upon her return, the party collected at the parsonage considered that they had proceeded far enough; but Miss Dragwell thought otherwise; she had made up her mind that Mrs Forster should pass a day or two in the Lunatic Asylum, and she felt assured that Mr Ramsden, through whose assistance her intention must be accomplished, would not venture to dispute her wishes.

  Her father, with a loud Ha, ha, ha! proposed that Mr Spinney should appear as a ghost by the bedside of Mrs Forster, wrapped up in a sheet, with a He, he, he! and that thus the diversion should end; but this project was overruled by Mr Spinney, who protested that nothing should induce him again to trust himself, with a He, he, he! in the presence of Mrs Forster.

  Ramsden, although well acquainted with Doctor Beddington, who had charge of the asylum, was not sure that he would be pleased with their freak, and earnestly dissuaded his intended from proceeding any farther.

  “It is useless to argue, my dear George, I am Quixote enough to revenge the injuries of those who have been forced to submit to her temper; and moreover I hope to effect a cure. Desperate diseases, you must be aware as a medical man, require desperate remedies. I consider that a termagant and a lunatic are during their paroxysms on a par, as rational behaviour in either party may be considered as a lucid interval. Let her, if it be only for one hour, witness herself reflected in the various distorted mirrors of perverted mind; and if she has any conscience whatever, good will spring from evil. I joined this plot from a love of mischief; but I carry it on from a feeling that favourable results will be produced.”

  “But my dear Fanny—”

  “I will have it so, Ramsden, so don’t attempt to dissuade me; we are not married yet, and I must not be thwarted in my short supremacy. Surely you ought not to be displeased at my desire to ‘tame a shrew.’ I give a fair promise not to fall into an error which I so ardently detest: now, send for the chaise, write a letter to Doctor Beddington, and leave me to arrange with Mrs Forster.”

  Ramsden, like many others when teased by a pretty woman, consented against his will; he wrote a letter to Doctor Beddington, explaining circumstances, and requesting his pardon for the liberty which he had been persuaded to take.

  Miss Dragwell, as soon as the letter was sealed, put on her bonnet, and taking Mr Ramsden’s servant with her, stepped into the chaise, and drove to the house of Mr Nicholas Forster. She found Mrs Forster squatted on the bed in her ludicrous attire, awaiting her return with impatience.

  “Oh! Mrs Forster, I have had such trouble, such difficulty; but Mr Ramsden has been persuaded at last. There is a letter to Dr Beddington, and Mr Ramsden’s servant is in the chaise at the door; the sooner you are off the better; the people are so outrageous, and call you such shocking names.”

  “Do they?” replied Mrs Forster, whose wrath kindled at the information.

  “Yes, indeed; and that wretch Betsy declares that she’ll put the rope over your neck with her own hands.”

  “Does she?” cried Mrs Forster, her eyes twinkling with rage.

  “Yes; and your husband, your foolish husband, says that he’ll be able to make his improvement in the duplex, now that you’ll be hanged.”

  “He does, does he?” replied Mrs Forster, catching her breath, and grinding her teeth as she jumped off the bed.

  “Now, my dear Mrs Forster, it’s no use minding what they say; all you have to do is to escape as soon as possible; the magistrate’s warrant may arrive this minute, and then it will be too late; so come down at once: — how lucky that you have escaped! it must be a dreadful thing to be hanged!”

  This last remark, always brought forward by Miss Dragwell, when she had a point to carry, induced Mrs Forster to hasten down stairs to the post-chaise, which she found already occupied by Mr Ramsden’s servant. As soon as she entered, it was driven off with speed in the direction already communicated to the post-boy.

  We shall leave the town of Overton to recover its quiet, for such a bustle had not occurred for many years, and Miss Dragwell to exult in the success of her plot, while we follow Mrs Forster to her new quarters.

  The chaise rattled on, Mr Ramsden’s servant crouching in a corner, as far as possible from Mrs Forster, evidently about as well pleased with his company as one would be in a pitfall with a tiger. At last it stopped at the door of the Lunatic Asylum, and the post-boy dismounting from his reeking horses, pulled violently at a large bell, which answered with a most lugubrious tolling, and struck awe into the breast of Mrs Forster.