cene of his master's death, but simply handed the note
which he had in his hand to Lord Nidderdale. It was from Marie, and
had been written within half an hour of the time at which news had
been brought to her of what had occurred. The note was as follows:

DEAR LORD NIDDERDALE,

The man will tell you what has happened. I feel as though I was
mad. I do not know who to send to. Will you come to me, only for
a few minutes?

MARIE.

He read it standing up in the hall, and then again asked the man as to
the manner of his master's death. And now the Marquis, gathering from
a word or two that he heard and from his son's delay that something
special had occurred, hobbled out into the hall. 'Mr Melmotte is--
dead,' said his son. The old man dropped his stick, and fell back
against the wall. 'This man says that he is dead, and here is a letter
from Marie asking me to go there. How was it that he--died?'

'It was--poison,' said the butler solemnly. 'There has been a doctor
already, and there isn't no doubt of that. He took it all by himself
last night. He came home, perhaps a little fresh, and he had in brandy
and soda and cigars;--and sat himself down all to himself. Then in the
morning, when the young woman went in,--there he was,--poisoned! I see
him lay on the ground, and I helped to lift him up, and there was that
smell of prussic acid that I knew what he had been and done just the
same as when the doctor came and told us.'

Before the man could be allowed to go back, there was a consultation
between the father and son as to a compliance with the request which
Marie had made in her first misery. The Marquis thought that his son
had better not go to Bruton Street. 'What's the use? What good can you
do? She'll only be falling into your arms, and that's what you've got
to avoid,--at any rate, till you know how things are.'

But Nidderdale's better feelings would not allow him to submit to this
advice. He had been engaged to marry the girl, and she in her abject
misery had turned to him as the friend she knew best. At any rate for
the time the heartlessness of his usual life deserted him, and he felt
willing to devote himself to the girl not for what he could get,--but
because she had so nearly been so near to him. 'I couldn't refuse
her,' he said over and over again. 'I couldn't bring myself to do it.
Oh, no;--I shall certainly go.'

'You'll get into a mess if you do.'

'Then I must get into a mess