The arrival of Geoffery at this critical moment was accidental. He had scarcely time to gather from the appearance of Willoughby, and the incoherent expressions of Alfred, who seemed at one moment half wild, the next stupified by his grief, a somewhat confused notion of what had occurred, when his entrance was followed by that of Doctor Harman.

The patient, however, being already quite dead, there remained nothing for the Doctor to do, but pronounce his opinion as to the probable cause of death, founded on the appearance of the body, and the symptoms of the attack, as described by those who had been present. This he did by expressing a suspicion that Sir Willoughby had swallowed poison, although he granted that similar symptoms might have been occasioned by a fit of apoplexy, and that such a fit might have had a fatal termination. To all Alfred's anxious inquiries if there was nothing that could be done, he replied decidedly that all was over. Alfred now stood for a considerable time with his arms folded, looking on his brother with a sort of mute despair, when a strange unbidden vision of the appearance which the water in Willoughby's goblet had presented, occurred to his memory. He turned towards the table on which the glasses still remained, and in a species of day-dream, lifted and examined that from which Willoughby had drunk. He perceived in the bottom a considerable quantity of whitish powder. Unfit for cool calculation, as were the powers of his mind at the moment, this, with all the circumstances, seemed to place it beyond a doubt, that Willoughby had taken the poison at the very time he had commented on the want of clearness of the water into which he was pouring his wine. With this conviction came again vague thoughts, as before, of expediency of concealing the fact of the suicide. Too wretched, however, to remember how strange his conduct, if not explained, must appear to those present, he poured some water into the glass, and was about to empty the same into a basin on the table.

"Should not the contents of that glass be preserved?" said Geoffery, aside to the Doctor.

"Undoubtedly!" replied the tatler, darting forward, and seizing the visibly trembling hand of Alfred.

"This may be of consequence, my dear sir," he said, mildly.

Alfred, as though he had been a detected culprit, who had not a word to plead in his own excuse, yielded without a comment, not only his whole attention, but his whole heart and soul, being at the instant recalled to the sofa, whence some of the servants were about to remove the remains of Willoughby, for the purpose of conveying them to a bedchamber. But for this circumstance, he would, in all probability, have explained his motives to the Doctor. Alfred now assisted the servants with as much tender solicitude, as though the unconscious object of his care were still capable of distinguishing affection's gentle hand, from all the aid that may be bought or sold. The Doctor and Geoffery had also approached the sofa, on the impulse of the moment, ready to give their assistance had it been required; it was not required, however, and they stood to let the melancholy procession pass. While doing so, their eyes naturally rested on the interesting figure of Alfred, bending over his poor brother, and consequently it so happened that while he was in the act of stooping, accompanied with some share of exertion, in the performance of his pious task, they both distinctly saw the piece of paper he had so lately placed within the breast of his waistcoat, glide out from thence, and fall to the ground. Geoffery perceived the Doctor's eye follow it; he kept his own upon it, for there was sufficient visible of the conspicuous letters with which it was marked, to draw attention. When all but the Doctor and himself had quitted the apartment, he pointed at it. The large characters, as we have already particularly remarked, being, though strongly done with a pen, those of print, were so distinct, that they were legible, even at the distance where the paper lay on the floor. After both gentlemen had stood looking down upon it for a considerable time, Geoffery said, at length,

"Will you have the goodness, Doctor, to pick up that paper?" The Doctor did so, though not without hesitation.

"I would not have touched it myself for the world!" continued Geoffery, as soon as it was in the Doctor's hand. "You saw whence it fell?" he proceeded. The Doctor was gazing in horror, one after another, at the letters which spell the word poison, and carefully collecting together a minute particle or two of powder, which still remained in some yet unfolded crevices of the crumpled paper:

"I am sorry to say I did," he answered, shaking his head.

"What powder is that?" asked Geoffery.

"It is scarcely fair to form a judgment on so small a portion," replied the Doctor, "but it certainly resembles arsenic."

Geoffery looked very hard at him; he returned the look, for a moment only, then dropped his eyelids, and compressed his lips, as though he feared his thoughts would assume the shape of words, and escape from them unbidden.

"What can be the meaning of all this, Doctor!" said Geoffery, after a pause of some duration.

"I don't know, sir—I don't know," replied the Doctor, hastily, and almost angrily.

"There seems to be no comment necessary," observed Geoffery. "Yet," he added, after another pause, "the only possible solution is too horrible to be thought of."

"Quite so, sir, quite so!" replied the Doctor. "I wish," he subjoined, shortly after, "that any other medical man but myself had been called in."

"That, too, was strange!" said Geoffery, turning towards the table: "what object could Mr. Arden, or Sir Alfred, rather, as we must now call him I suppose, have had in attempting to rinse that glass?"

"It is impossible to say," replied the Doctor.

"Why should he," persisted Geoffery, instead of being anxious to ascertain the truth (as every near relative who had not his own reasons for a contrary line of conduct must be), "seek to make away with evidence?"

The Doctor compressed his lips harder than before.

"What do you suppose these dregs to be?" asked Geoffery, after a long pause, devoted to a careful scrutiny of the contents of the glass.

"Arsenic, apparently," replied the Doctor;—this was a point on which he considered himself called upon to speak.

"And you think Sir Willoughby's death was caused by poison?"

"I did certainly from the symptoms described suspect as much; but I should, for the further satisfaction of the family, recommend the body being opened."

"You are quite right," said Geoffery; "it ought to be satisfactory to every member of the family that the cause and manner of Sir Willoughby's death should be clearly ascertained."

The good Doctor moved his head mournfully but made no reply. The paper was still in his hand. Being about to depart, he offered it to Geoffery, saying, "I had better give this to you, I suppose, sir?"

"By no means," replied Geoffery; "but I must request that you will take especial charge of it. 'Tis scarcely to be supposed that circumstances so mysterious and extraordinary will be passed over without some investigation, in which case that scrap of paper will be of infinite importance."

The Doctor took out a memorandum-book with trembling fingers, placed the bit of paper within its leaves, and sighing as he restored the depository to his pocket, said, "Ours is a wretched profession, sir! It is not enough that we must witness every agony that is felt, and see every tear that is shed; but other and still more painful duties, which at first sight one would suppose to be quite distinct from the medical department, are daily thrust upon us by circumstances. The nakedness of human misery as well as human depravity both, are for ever before our eyes!" after a pause he added, "I wish it to be distinctly understood, that I shall decline all interference which is not enforced by law—which is not, in short, matter of sad necessity."

"We must be in a great measure guided by circumstances," said Geoffery, "My situation is peculiarly painful and delicate; I heartily wish I had not arrived when I did—had my own suspicions never been awakened, I had not been called upon either by honour or by feeling, to take a part which may, notwithstanding, be supposed by many to be very invidious. You don't think I could with propriety allow this affair to blow over without an investigation? What do you say, Doctor?"

"I can offer no advice on such a subject," replied the Doctor, "it would be quite stepping out of my sphere, sir."

"I commend your prudence," observed Geoffery, "It is time enough for you to answer questions when you are on your oath."

"A surmise at least," interrupted the Doctor, with the air of one who had suddenly recollected an important fact, if not an absolute knowledge that poison had been taken, "must have existed previously to my being sent for, as the servant who came for me, desired that I should bring antidotes; and, by-the-by, arsenic was particularly mentioned. Possibly Sir Willoughby is known to have put a period to his own existence?"

"Wherefore, in that case," replied Geoffery, "should the paper which had contained the poison have been so carefully concealed, where both of us saw it come from? Besides, Sir Willoughby's affairs were in the most prosperous state possible. He was also on the point of marriage with a very charming young woman. A match quite of his own choosing, too."

After a slight degree of hesitation, Geoffery assuming a look of affected mystery, through which, however, flashed that fiendish sparkle of the eye, which betrays the self-gratulatory acumen of knavery, added,

"I should scarcely suppose that there had existed much cordiality between the brothers of late. Both were pretenders to the hand of the same lady, and the feeling of mutual jealousy on the subject was, I myself happen to know, very strong. The lady in question, too, is an heiress of considerable wealth, by whose means there is little doubt that Alfred Arden had, before poor Sir Willoughby became his rival, hoped to mend his fortunes as a younger brother. Indeed, I think he was very ill treated in the business from first to last. It was enough to exasperate the feelings of any man;—not that I mean to justify a crime like this."

"These are family matters with which I can have no concern," interrupted the prudent man of medicine. "As it is highly probable, however, that some investigation of the sudden death of Sir Willoughby must take place, it becomes, I apprehend, my imperative duty, being the medical attendant on the occasion, to take charge of the contents of this glass."

So saying, he rang the bell, asked for a bottle, and carefully putting every particle of the supposed poison into it, took his departure, carrying the bottle with him.