HUBERT'S WHISPER.
Sir Norman Kingsley's consternation and horror on discovering the dead body of his friend, was only equalled by his amazement as to how he got there, or how he came to be dead at all.The livid face, up turned to the moonlight, was unmistakably the face of a dead man - it was no swoon, no deception, like Leoline's; for the blue, ghastly paleness that marks the flight of the soul from the body was stamped on every rigid feature.Yet, Sir Norman could not realize it.We all know how hard it is to realize the death of a friend from whom we have but lately parted in full health and life, and Ormiston's death was so sudden.Why, it was not quite two hours since they had parted in Leoline's house, and even the plague could not carry off a victim as quickly as this.
"Ormiston! Ormiston!" he called, between grief and dismay, as he raised him in his arms, with his hand over the stilled heart; but Ormiston answered not, and the heart gave no pulsation beneath his fingers.He tore open his doublet, as the thought of the plague flashed through his mind, but no plague-spot was to be seen, and it was quite evident, from the appearance of the face, that he had not died of the distemper, neither was there any wound or mark to show that he had met his end violently.Yet the cold, white face was convulsed, as if he had died in throes of agony, the hands were clenched, till the nails sank into the flesh; and that was the only outward sign or token that he had suffered in expiring.
Sir Norman was completely at a lose, and half beside himself, with a thousand conflicting feelings of sorrow, astonishment, and mystification.The rapid and exciting events of the night had turned his head into a mental chaos, as they very well might, but he still had commonsense enough left to know that something must be done about this immediately.He knew the best place to take Ormiston was to the nearest apothecary's shop, which establishments were generally open, and filled, the whole livelong night, by the sick and their friends.As he was meditating whether or not to call the surly watchman to help him carry the body, a pest-cart came, providentially, along, and the driver-seeing a young man bending over a prostrate form-guessed at once what was the matter, and came to a halt.
"Another one!" he said, coming leisurely up, and glancing at the lifeless form with a very professional eye."Well, I think there is room for another one in the cart; so bear a hand, friend, and let us have him out of this.""You are mistaken!" said Sir Norman sharply, "he has not died of the plague.I am not even certain whether he is dead at all."The driver looked at Sir Norman, then stooped down and touched Ormiston's icy face, and listened to hear him breathe.He stood up after a moment, with some thing like a small laugh.
"If he's alive," he said, turning to go, "then I never saw any one dead! Good night, sir, I wish you joy when you bring him to.""Stay!" exclaimed the young man, "I wish you to assist me in bringing him to yonder apothecary's shop, and you may have this for your pains.""This " proved to be a talisman of alacrity; for the man pocketed it, and briskly laid hold of Ormiston by the feet, while Sir Norman wrapped his cloak reverently about him and took him by the shoulders.In this style his body was conveyed to the apothecary's shop which they found half full of applicants for medicine, among whom their entrance with the corpse produced no greater sensation than a momentary stare.The attire and bearing of Sir Norman proving him to be something different from their usual class of visitors, bringing one of the drowsy apprentices immediately to his side, inquiring what were his orders.
"A private room, and your master's attendance directly," was the authoritative reply.
Both were to be had; the former, a hole in the wall behind the shop; the latter, a pallid, cadaverous-looking person, with the air of one who had been dead a week, thought better of it and rose again.There was a long table in the aforesaid hole in the wall, bearing a strong family likeness to a dissecting-table;upon which the stark figure was laid, and the pest-cart driver disappeared.The apothecary held a mirror close to the, face;applied his ear to the pulse and heart; held a pocket-mirror over his mouth, looked at it; shook his head; and set down the candle with decision.
"The man is dead, sir!" was his criticism, "dead as a door nail!
All the medicine in the shop wouldn't kindle one spark of life in such ashes!""At least, try! Try something - bleeding for instance,"suggested Sir Norman.
Again the apothecary examined the body, and again he shook his head dolefully.
"It's no use, sir: but, if it will please, you can try."The right arm was bared; the lancet inserted, one or two black drops sluggishly followed and nothing more.
"It's all a waste of time, you see," remarked the apothecary, wiping his dreadful little weapon, "he's as dead as ever I saw anybody in my life! How did he come to his end, sir - not by the plague?""I don't know," said Sir Norman, gloomily."I wish you would tell me that.""Can't do it, sir; my skill doesn't extend that far.There is no plague-spot or visible wound or bruise on the person; so he must have died of some internal complaint - probably disease of the heart.""Never knew him to have such a thing," said Sir Norman, sighing.
"It is very mysterious and very dreadful, and notwithstanding all you have said, I cannot believe him dead.Can he not remain here until morning, at least?"The starved apothecary looked at him out of a pair of hollow, melancholy eyes.
"Gold can do anything," was his plaintive reply.
"I understand.You shall have it.Are you sure you can do nothing more for him?""Nothing whatever, sir; and excuse me, but there are customers in the shop, and I must leave, sir."Which he did, accordingly; and Sir Norman was left alone with all that remained of him who, two hours before, was his warm friend.
