The slumbers which followed the prolonged reveries of Geoffery Arden, were rendered unrefreshing by feverish dreams, some of a truly horrible character; in particular the vision that presented itself on his first closing his eyes; which was, that he had himself for some reason or other been condemned to be hung; that it was the night before his execution, and that he was laying trembling in the condemned cell, dreading the approach of dawn. The agony of his feelings awoke him. What he had just suffered, and his infinite relief on finding that all was but a dream, had for some moments a salutary effect, even on his heart, which, if ever heart of man was justly entitled to the epithet, was indeed "desperately wicked;" now, however, the scheme with which he had laid his head on his pillow, seemed almost too diabolical to be attempted; he almost shrank from the idea of inflicting on any human creature the intense suffering with the recent escape from which his own heart still beat audibly.

These were the thoughts of solitude and of darkness. He slept again, and awoke only to fear, as he beheld the full light of day penetrating every where, and making the true forms of all things evident, that his scheme of murderous treachery was too monstrous to be practicable. No one would listen to such a proposition: and as for proofs, could circumstances be indeed tortured into any strong enough to meet the powerful current of opinion, flowing in the opposite direction? Yet, on the other hand, such things had been heard of, and without one-tenth part the stake as to property, which in this instance might be alleged as one powerful incentive, while there was room also to suppose the workings of violent jealousy, and even of revenge. His own mother, moreover, could be summoned to prove that he had actually been accepted, and that he himself ascribed his disappointment afterwards to the rivalship of his brother.

At this moment a servant answered Geoffery's bell, prepared to assist him at his morning toilet.

The man's face was full of importance and mystery; Geoffery noted this, and willing to encourage the fellow, in whatever he might have to tell respecting the opinions of servants, &c., said,

"Why, Davison, you look absolutely frightened! What is the matter?"

"I don't know that I have got any occasion to look frightened," said the man, "for whatever way the poor gentleman came by his death, whether by a fit, as some sais, or by poison, as others thinks, it was nearly over with him before ever we came to the house. But there's no saying, for that matter, who'll be blamed, or who wont; they are all in such a taking about it below, as never was."

"How do you mean?"

"Why the coachman thinks that as it was he that went to Arden for the arsenic for laying for the rats, for it was in the stable-lofts they were most troublesome, that he'll get brought into some mischief, although he had his master's orders; but who is to prove that, now poor Sir Willoughby's dead and gone? And for the butler, he's afraid of his life, but people may think that something must have been wrong with the glasses or the water, when he carried them in; and so he took Johnson and myself to the saddle-room, that we should see where the arsenic lay, and so judge that it was impossible for it to come near any thing that was for eating or drinking. When we got there, however, the packet with the poison was nowhere to be found, although it had lain on the very shelf he showed us, in that selfsame room (the butler sais), no longer ago than yesterday forenoon, when poor Sir Willoughby and Mr. Alfred looked at it themselves."

"Strange indeed!" said Geoffery, "and has inquiry been made? Does any one own to having moved the packet? This may throw light on the whole affair. It is rather too bad that gentlemen are to lose their lives in this manner by the shameful carelessness of servants. How are they to prove it carelessness either? How are they to show it was not intentional? The half of them will be hung, I make no doubt, and richly they deserve it."

"The servants are all ready to swear, that not one of them touched it, or so much as went near the place," replied Davison; "and what's more, the groom who was leading the horses round, after the gentlemen returned from riding, sais, that he saw Mr. Alfred coming out of the saddle-room with a paper parcel in his hand; so that if one of the family thought proper to remove the arsenic himself, and an accident happened in consequence to any article of food, the servants all say that was no fault of theirs."

"Can the man swear to this?"

"So he sais."

"If this could be proved it might certainly clear servants from blame, but it is, I must say, altogether a very improbable story. If Sir Alfred had wished to have the arsenic removed to any other place, he would have given orders to that effect, and not have gone about the thing himself in the clandestine manner you describe. No, no, this won't do, it is but a flimsy excuse, and as I told you before, gentlemen are not to lose their lives by the shameful carelessness of servants; nor are their nonsensical excuses to be taken, and the thing hushed up. As for poor Sir Alfred, he is too much overcome by his grief to attend to any thing; it necessarily devolves upon me therefore to make the proper inquiries.—Send Johnson here, I must question him. I shall, in fact, examine them all, both separately and face to face."

Geoffery was determined, by this means and on this pretext, to collect all the information he could as to what were the surmises of others, and what the facts of the case, that admitted of proof or of distortion. He knew enough to be perfectly aware that the servants were not in fault, but he considered it his most judicious play, to pretend to blame them; exciting their ignorant and selfish fears, might be useful, and at length make them willing to hear even their master accused rather than themselves. Although he had sources of information not open to others, he could by no means understand the extraordinary circumstance of the paper which had fallen from Alfred's bosom. The attempt to rinse the glass, he now indeed thought might be ascribed to the wish Alfred had since expressed to conceal the fact of the suicide; but as he had not explained his motive to the doctor at the time, the circumstance looked so very suspicious, that he hoped it might be turned to account. He could of course deny what his cousin had said to him in private. Knowing however, as he did, that the inference to be naturally drawn from all that had at present transpired was false, he was aware that he must proceed with caution; something positive might yet come to light, which would do away with all fallacies, and render it imprudent in him, or at least invidious to breathe a suspicion against his cousin.

Before he took any step, therefore, he must find out what all the servants had to say; and as he had already determined to do, sound Alfred himself,—without any witness present, however; for if, as he now began to hope, his cousin's exculpation should rest entirely on explanations to be made by himself, his not offering such till after formal accusations were brought against him, would look very suspicious. He would, therefore, make himself the medium of communication between Alfred and all others; and, if possible, encourage him not to see any one else. In the end, if necessary, he could and would firmly and boldly deny every word which had been said to him only, and so give to his cousin's motives the colouring of excuses, subsequently invented to cover guilt. This, however, was a desperate game, which he would not venture to play till he could see that his card would sweep the board.

The circumstance of Alfred's having been seen bringing away the packet of poison, would certainly be very strong if it should so turn out that it could be proved; he feared, however, that it must be a mistake: he had his own reasons for thinking that it would be found to have been Sir Willoughby whom the groom had seen pass and carelessly mistaken for Sir Alfred.