There was a brief silence here, and I observed Ronald pass his hands across his eyes. It was he who was asking these questions, and Rivers did not interpose.
"Mme. Bernstein, did you ever taste this medicine?"
"Ah, sir, you make me remember what I had forgotten. I am old; forgive me. It was this, also, that was in my mind when I said there were strange things I could not understand. It happened two years ago. Mademoiselle had left nearly half the dose in the glass, and had gone to bed. I took it up and tasted it; it was as water in my mouth, and--I do not know why--I drank what remained. 'It is not likely to harm me,' I thought, 'for it does not harm mademoiselle.' I went to bed and slept soundly. In the morning when I awoke it was with a strange feeling. I had some things to do; I could not remember what they were. I dressed myself and sat in my chair as helpless as a babe. The clock struck more than once, and still I sat there, trying to think what it was I had to do. At last the clock struck twelve, and I started to my feet, as though I had just woke out of a waking sleep, and went about my work as usual."
Ronald did not continue his questions; his attention seemed to be drawn to another matter; his head was bent forward, in the attitude of listening.
I do not recollect what it was that Rivers said at this point, but he had spoken a few words when Ronald cried:
His voice was agitated, and the same feeling of expectation stole upon me as I had experienced before the female in her white nightdress opened her bedroom window and stretched out her arms toward us.
"Mme. Bernstein," said Ronald then, "the young lady we have been speaking of is a musician."
"I have heard her, sir, on two or three occasions."
"The instrument she plays on is the zither."
"If you say so, sir. My hearing is not so good as yours."
"It is Beatrice who is playing," said Ronald, and his tone now was very quiet. "I knew she was not dead, and that we should meet again."
These startling words caused us to throw aside the restraint we had placed upon our movements. We darted forward to the gate, from which spot we could just catch the faint sounds of music. The truth burst upon me like a flash of light. The mystery of Beatrice's supposed death was made clear to me, and the unspeakable villainy of which Mr. Nisbet was guilty was revealed. But alas for poor Barbara, who was eagerly waiting to embrace her sister Molly!