her jewels to
keep her from starving.

'At this moment, the Courier who has been engaged to travel with my
Lord from England crosses the stage with a letter to take to the post.
The Countess stops him, and asks to look at the address on the letter.
She takes it from him for a moment, and shows it to her brother. The
handwriting is my Lord's; and the letter is directed to his lawyers in
London.

'The Courier proceeds to the post-office. The Baron and the Countess
look at each other in silence. No words are needed. They thoroughly
understand the position in which they are placed; they clearly see the
terrible remedy for it. What is the plain alternative before them?
Disgrace and ruin--or, my Lord's death and the insurance money!

'The Baron walks backwards and forwards in great agitation, talking to
himself. The Countess hears fragments of what he is saying. He speaks
of my Lord's constitution, probably weakened in India--of a cold which
my Lord has caught two or three days since--of the remarkable manner in
which such slight things as colds sometimes end in serious illness and
death.

'He observes that the Countess is listening to him, and asks if she has
anything to propose. She is a woman who, with many defects, has the
great merit of speaking out. "Is there no such thing as a serious
illness," she asks, "corked up in one of those bottles of yours in the
vaults downstairs?"

'The Baron answers by gravely shaking his head. What is he afraid
of?--a possible examination of the body after death? No: he can set
any post-mortem examination at defiance. It is the process of
administering the poison that he dreads. A man so distinguished as my
Lord cannot be taken seriously ill without medical attendance. Where
there is a Doctor, there is always danger of discovery. Then, again,
there is the Courier, faithful to my Lord as long as my Lord pays him.
Even if the Doctor sees nothing suspicious, the Courier may discover
something. The poison, to do its work with the necessary secrecy, must
be repeatedly administered in graduated doses. One trifling
miscalculation or mistake may rouse suspicion. The insurance offices
may hear of it, and may refuse to pay the money. As things are, the
Baron will not risk it, and will not allow his sister to risk it in his
place.

'My Lord himself is the next character who appears. He has repeatedly
rung for the Courier, and the bell has not been answered. "What does
this insolence mean?"