Entering his own room on the upper floor, Henry placed themanuscript on his table, open at the first leaf. His nerves wereunquestionably shaken; his hand trembled as he turned the pages,he started at chance noises on the staircase of the hotel.

The scenario, or outline, of the Countess's play began with noformal prefatory phrases. She presented herself and her workwith the easy familiarity of an old friend.

'Allow me, dear Mr. Francis Westwick, to introduce to you the personsin my proposed Play. Behold them, arranged symmetrically in a line.

'My Lord. The Baron. The Courier. The Doctor. The Countess.

'I don't trouble myself, you see, to invest fictitious family names.My characters are sufficiently distinguished by their social titles,and by the striking contrast which they present one with another.

The First Act opens--

'No! Before I open the First Act, I must announce, injustice to myself,that this Play is entirely the work of my own invention. I scornto borrow from actual events; and, what is more extraordinary still,I have not stolen one of my ideas from the Modern French drama.As the manager of an English theatre, you will naturally refuse tobelieve this. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters--except the openingof my first act.

'We are at Homburg, in the famous Salon d'Or, at the height of the season.The Countess (exquisitely dressed) is seated at the green table.Strangers of all nations are standing behind the players, venturingtheir money or only looking on. My Lord is among the strangers.He is struck by the Countess's personal appearance, in which beautiesand defects are fantastically mingled in the most attractive manner.He watches the Countess's game, and places his money where he seesher deposit her own little stake. She looks round at him, and says,"Don't trust to my colour; I have been unlucky the whole evening.Place your stake on the other colour, and you may have a chanceof winning." My Lord (a true Englishman) blushes, bows, and obeys.The Countess proves to be a prophet. She loses again. My Lord wins twicethe sum that he has risked.

'The Countess rises from the table. She has no more money,and she offers my Lord her chair.

'Instead of taking it, he politely places his winnings in her hand,and begs her to accept the loan as a favour to himself.The Countess stakes again, and loses again. My Lord smiles superbly,and presses a second loan on her. From that moment her luck turns.She wins, and wins largely. Her brother, the Baron, trying his fortunein another room, hears of what is going on, and joins my Lord andthe Countess.

'Pay attention, if you please, to the Baron. He is delineatedas a remarkable and interesting character.

'This noble person has begun life with a single-minded devotionto the science of experimental chemistry, very surprising in a youngand handsome man with a brilliant future before him. A profoundknowledge of the occult sciences has persuaded the Baron that it ispossible to solve the famous problem called the "Philosopher's Stone."His own pecuniary resources have long since been exhausted by hiscostly experiments. His sister has next supplied him with the smallfortune at her disposal: reserving only the family jewels,placed in the charge of her banker and friend at Frankfort.The Countess's fortune also being swallowed up, the Baron hasin a fatal moment sought for new supplies at the gaming table.He proves, at starting on his perilous career, to be a favouriteof fortune; wins largely, and, alas! profanes his noble enthusiasmfor science by yielding his soul to the all-debasing passion ofthe gamester.

'At the period of the Play, the Baron's good fortune has deserted him.He sees his way to a crowning experiment in the fatal searchafter the secret of transmuting the baser elements into gold.But how is he to pay the preliminary expenses? Destiny, like amocking echo, answers, How?

'Will his sister's winnings (with my Lord's money) prove large enoughto help him? Eager for this result, he gives the Countess his advicehow to play. From that disastrous moment the infection of his ownadverse fortune spreads to his sister. She loses again, and again--loses to the last farthing.

'The amiable and wealthy Lord offers a third loan;but the scrupulous Countess positively refuses to take it.On leaving the table, she presents her brother to my Lord.The gentlemen fall into pleasant talk. My Lord asks leave to payhis respects to the Countess, the next morning, at her hotel.The Baron hospitably invites him to breakfast. My Lord accepts,with a last admiring glance at the Countess which does not escape herbrother's observation, and takes his leave for the night.

'Alone with his sister, the Baron speaks out plainly. "Our affairs,"he says, "are in a desperate condition, and must find a desperate remedy.Wait for me here, while I make inquiries about my Lord.You have evidently produced a strong impression on him. If wecan turn that impression into money, no matter at what sacrifice,the thing must be done."

'The Countess now occupies the stage alone, and indulgesin a soliloquy which develops her character.

'It is at once a dangerous and attractive character.Immense capacities for good are implanted in her nature,side by side with equally remarkable capacities for evil.It rests with circumstances to develop either the one or the other.Being a person who produces a sensation wherever she goes, this noblelady is naturally made the subject of all sorts of scandalous reports.To one of these reports (which falsely and abominably points to the Baronas her lover instead of her brother) she now refers with just indignation.She has just expressed her desire to leave Homburg, as the placein which the vile calumny first took its rise, when the Baron returns,overhears her last words, and says to her, "Yes, leave Homburgby all means; provided you leave it in the character of my Lord'sbetrothed wife!"

'The Countess is startled and shocked. She protests that shedoes not reciprocate my Lord's admiration for her. She even goesthe length of refusing to see him again. The Baron answers,"I must positively have command of money. Take your choice,between marrying my Lord's income, in the interest of my grand discovery--or leave me to sell myself and my title to the first rich womanof low degree who is ready to buy me."

'The Countess listens in surprise and dismay. Is it possiblethat the Baron is in earnest? He is horribly in earnest."The woman who will buy me," he says, "is in the next room to usat this moment. She is the wealthy widow of a Jewish usurer.She has the money I want to reach the solution of the great problem.I have only to be that woman's husband, and to make myself master of untoldmillions of gold. Take five minutes to consider what I have said to you,and tell me on my return which of us is to marry for the money I want,you or I."

'As he turns away, the Countess stops him.

'All the noblest sentiments in her nature are exalted tothe highest pitch. "Where is the true woman," she exclaims,"who wants time to consummate the sacrifice of herself, when the manto whom she is devoted demands it? She does not want five minutes--she does not want five seconds--she holds out her hand to him,and she says, Sacrifice me on the altar of your glory! Take asstepping-stones on the way to your triumph, my love, my liberty,and my life!"

'On this grand situation the curtain falls. Judging by my first act,Mr. Westwick, tell me truly, and don't be afraid of turning my head:--Am I not capable of writing a good play?'

Henry paused between the First and Second Acts; reflecting, not onthe merits of the play, but on the strange resemblance whichthe incidents so far presented to the incidents that had attendedthe disastrous marriage of the first Lord Montbarry.

Was it possible that the Countess, in the present condition of her mind,supposed herself to be exercising her invention when she was onlyexercising her memory?

The question involved considerations too serious to be madethe subject of a hasty decision. Reserving his opinion, Henry turnedthe page, and devoted himself to the reading of the next act.The manuscript proceeded as follows:--

'The Second Act opens at Venice. An interval of four monthshas elapsed since the date of the scene at the gambling table.The action now takes place in the reception-room of one of theVenetian palaces.

'The Baron is discovered, alone, on the stage. He reverts tothe events which have happened since the close of the First Act.The Countess has sacrificed herself; the mercenary marriage hastaken place--but not without obstacles, caused by difference of opinionon the question of marriage settlements.

'Private inquiries, instituted in England, have informed the Baron that myLord's income is derived chiefly from what is called entailed property.In case of accidents, he is surely bound to do something for his bride?Let him, for example, insure his life, for a sum proposed by the Baron,and let him so settle the money that his widow shall have it,if he dies first.

'My Lord hesitates. The Baron wastes no time in useless discussion."Let us by all means" (he says) "consider the marriage as broken off."My Lord shifts his ground, and pleads for a smaller sum thanthe sum proposed. The Baron briefly replies, "I never bargain."My lord is in love; the natural result follows--he gives way.

'So far, the Baron has no cause to complain. But my Lord's turn comes,when the marriage has been celebrated, and when the honeymoon is over.The Baron has joined the married pair at a palace which theyhave hired in Venice. He is still bent on solving the problemof the "Philosopher's Stone." His laboratory is set up in the vaultsbeneath the palace--so that smells from chemical experiments maynot incommode the Countess, in the higher regions of the house.The one obstacle in the way of his grand discovery is, as usual,the want of money. His position at the present time has becometruly critical. He owes debts of honour to gentlemen in his ownrank of life, which must positively be paid; and he proposes,in his own friendly manner, to borrow the money of my Lord.My Lord positively refuses, in the rudest terms. The Baron appliesto his sister to exercise her conjugal influence. She can only answerthat her noble husband (being no longer distractedly in love with her)now appears in his true character, as one of the meanest men living.The sacrifice of the marriage has been made, and has alreadyproved useless.

'Such is the state of affairs at the opening of the Second Act.

'The entrance of the Countess suddenly disturbs the Baron's reflections.She is in a state bordering on frenzy. Incoherent expressions of rageburst from her lips: it is some time before she can sufficientlycontrol herself to speak plainly. She has been doubly insulted--first, by a menial person in her employment; secondly, by her husband.Her maid, an Englishwoman, has declared that she will servethe Countess no longer. She will give up her wages, and return atonce to England. Being asked her reason for this strange proceeding,she insolently hints that the Countess's service is no servicefor an honest woman, since the Baron has entered the house.The Countess does, what any lady in her position would do;she indignantly dismisses the wretch on the spot.

'My Lord, hearing his wife's voice raised in anger, leaves the studyin which he is accustomed to shut himself up over his books,and asks what this disturbance means. The Countess informshim of the outrageous language and conduct of her maid.My Lord not only declares his entire approval of the woman's conduct,but expresses his own abominable doubts of his wife's fidelityin language of such horrible brutality that no lady could polluteher lips by repeating it. "If I had been a man," the Countess says,"and if I had had a weapon in my hand, I would have struck him deadat my feet!"

'The Baron, listening silently so far, now speaks. "Permit meto finish the sentence for you," he says. "You would have struckyour husband dead at your feet; and by that rash act, you wouldhave deprived yourself of the insurance money settled on the widow--the very money which is wanted to relieve your brother fromthe unendurable pecuniary position which he now occupies!"

'The Countess gravely reminds the Baron that this is no joking matter.After what my Lord has said to her, she has little doubt that he willcommunicate his infamous suspicions to his lawyers in England.If nothing is done to prevent it, she may be divorced and disgraced,and thrown on the world, with no resource but the sale of her jewels tokeep her from starving.

'At this moment, the Courier who has been engaged to travel with my Lordfrom 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 lawyersin London.

'The Courier proceeds to the post-office. The Baron and theCountess 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 plainalternative before them? Disgrace and ruin--or, my Lord's deathand 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 coldssometimes end in serious illness and death.

'He observes that the Countess is listening to him, and asks if shehas anything to propose. She is a woman who, with many defects,has the great merit of speaking out. "Is there no such thingas a serious illness," she asks, "corked up in one of those bottlesof 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 canset any post-mortem examination at defiance. It is the processof administering the poison that he dreads. A man so distinguishedas 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 longas my Lord pays him. Even if the Doctor sees nothing suspicious,the Courier may discover something. The poison, to do its work withthe 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 torisk it in his place.

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

'The Countess (speaking with quiet dignity--for why should herinfamous husband have the satisfaction of knowing how deeply he haswounded her?) reminds my Lord that the Courier has gone to the post.My Lord asks suspiciously if she has looked at the letter.The Countess informs him coldly that she has no curiosity abouthis letters. Referring to the cold from which he is suffering,she inquires if he thinks of consulting a medical man.My Lord answers roughly that he is quite old enough to be capable ofdoctoring himself.

'As he makes this reply, the Courier appears, returning from the post.My Lord gives him orders to go out again and buy some lemons.He proposes to try hot lemonade as a means of inducing perspirationin bed. In that way he has formerly cured colds, and in that wayhe will cure the cold from which he is suffering now.

'The Courier obeys in silence. Judging by appearances, he goesvery reluctantly on this second errand.

'My Lord turns to the Baron (who has thus far taken no partin the conversation) and asks him, in a sneering tone, how muchlonger he proposes to prolong his stay in Venice. The Baronanswers quietly, "Let us speak plainly to one another, my Lord.If you wish me to leave your house, you have only to say the word,and I go." My Lord turns to his wife, and asks if she can supportthe calamity of her brother's absence--laying a grossly insultingemphasis on the word "brother." The Countess preserves herimpenetrable composure; nothing in her betrays the deadly hatredwith which she regards the titled ruffian who has insulted her."You are master in this house, my Lord," is all she says. "Do asyou please."

'My Lord looks at his wife; looks at the Baron--and suddenly altershis tone. Does he perceive in the composure of the Countess and herbrother something lurking under the surface that threatens him?This is at least certain, he makes a clumsy apology for the languagethat he has used. (Abject wretch!)

'My Lord's excuses are interrupted by the return of the Courierwith the lemons and hot water.

'The Countess observes for the first time that the man looks ill.His hands tremble as he places the tray on the table. My Lord ordershis Courier to follow him, and make the lemonade in the bedroom.The Countess remarks that the Courier seems hardly capable of obeyinghis orders. Hearing this, the man admits that he is ill. He, too,is suffering from a cold; he has been kept waiting in a draughtat the shop where he bought the lemons; he feels alternately hotand cold, and he begs permission to lie down for a little while onhis bed.

'Feeling her humanity appealed to, the Countess volunteersto make the lemonade herself. My Lord takes the Courierby the arm, leads him aside, and whispers these words to him:"Watch her, and see that she puts nothing into the lemonade;then bring it to me with your own hands; and, then, go to bed,if you like."

'Without a word more to his wife, or to the Baron, my Lord leavesthe room.

'The Countess makes the lemonade, and the Courier takes it to his master.

'Returning, on the way to his own room, he is so weak, and feels,he says, so giddy, that he is obliged to support himselfby the backs of the chairs as he passes them. The Baron,always considerate to persons of low degree, offers his arm."I am afraid, my poor fellow," he says, "that you are really ill."The Courier makes this extraordinary answer: "It's all over with me, Sir:I have caught my death."

'The Countess is naturally startled. "You are not an old man,"she says, trying to rouse the Courier's spirits. "At your age,catching cold doesn't surely mean catching your death?" The Courierfixes his eyes despairingly on the Countess.

"My lungs are weak, my Lady," he says; "I have already had two attacksof bronchitis. The second time, a great physician joined my own doctorin attendance on me. He considered my recovery almost in the lightof a miracle. Take care of yourself," he said. "If you have athird attack of bronchitis, as certainly as two and two make four,you will be a dead man. I feel the same inward shivering, my Lady,that I felt on those two former occasions--and I tell you again,I have caught my death in Venice."

'Speaking some comforting words, the Baron leads him to his room.The Countess is left alone on the stage.

'She seats herself, and looks towards the door by which the Courierhas been led out. "Ah! my poor fellow," she says, "if you couldonly change constitutions with my Lord, what a happy result wouldfollow for the Baron and for me! If you could only get curedof a trumpery cold with a little hot lemonade, and if he couldonly catch his death in your place--!"

'She suddenly pauses--considers for a while--and springsto her feet, with a cry of triumphant surprise: the wonderful,the unparalleled idea has crossed her mind like a flash of lightning.Make the two men change names and places--and the deed is done!Where are the obstacles? Remove my Lord (by fair means or foul)from his room; and keep him secretly prisoner in the palace,to live or die as future necessity may determine. Place the Courierin the vacant bed, and call in the doctor to see him--ill, in myLord's character, and (if he dies) dying under my Lord's name!'

The manuscript dropped from Henry's hands. A sickening sense ofhorror overpowered him. The question which had occurred to his mindat the close of the First Act of the Play assumed a new and terribleinterest now. As far as the scene of the Countess's soliloquy,the incidents of the Second Act had reflected the events of his latebrother's life as faithfully as the incidents of the First Act.Was the monstrous plot, revealed in the lines which he had just read,the offspring of the Countess's morbid imagination? or had she,in this case also, deluded herself with the idea that she wasinventing when she was really writing under the influence of her ownguilty remembrances of the past? If the latter interpretation werethe true one, he had just read the narrative of the contemplatedmurder of his brother, planned in cold blood by a woman who was atthat moment inhabiting the same house with him. While, to makethe fatality complete, Agnes herself had innocently providedthe conspirators with the one man who was fitted to be the passiveagent of their crime.

Even the bare doubt that it might be so was more than he could endure.He left his room; resolved to force the truth out of the Countess,or to denounce her before the authorities as a murderess at large.

Arrived at her door, he was met by a person just leaving the room.The person was the manager. He was hardly recognisable; he lookedand spoke like a man in a state of desperation.

'Oh, go in, if you like!' he said to Henry. 'Mark this, sir!I am not a superstitious man; but I do begin to believe that crimescarry their own curse with them. This hotel is under a curse.What happens in the morning? We discover a crime committed in the olddays of the palace. The night comes, and brings another dreadfulevent with it--a death; a sudden and shocking death, in the house.Go in, and see for yourself! I shall resign my situation,Mr. Westwick: I can't contend with the fatalities that pursueme here!'

Henry entered the room.

The Countess was stretched on her bed. The doctor on one side,and the chambermaid on the other, were standing looking at her.From time to time, she drew a heavy stertorous breath,like a person oppressed in sleeping. 'Is she likely to die?'Henry asked.

'She is dead,' the doctor answered. 'Dead of the rupture of a blood-vesselon the brain. Those sounds that you hear are purely mechanical--they may go on for hours.'

Henry looked at the chambermaid. She had little to tell.The Countess had refused to go to bed, and had placed herself at herdesk to proceed with her writing. Finding it useless to remonstratewith her, the maid had left the room to speak to the manager.In the shortest possible time, the doctor was summoned to the hotel,and found the Countess dead on the floor. There was this to tell--and no more.

Looking at the writing-table as he went out, Henry saw the sheetof paper on which the Countess had traced her last lines of writing.The characters were almost illegible. Henry could just distinguishthe words, 'First Act,' and 'Persons of the Drama.' The lost wretchhad been thinking of her Play to the last, and had begun it allover again!