I stood with the medicine-bottle in my hand sorely perplexed.  What could I do?  Should I suspend the medicine for to-night, at the risk of retarding the cure? or should I give it in spite of that half suspicion that it had been tampered with?

What ground had I for such a suspicion?  At that moment nothing but the sound that had awakened me, the chinking sound of one glass knocked against another.

Had I really heard any such sound, or had it only been a delusion of my half sleeping brain?  While I stood weighing this question, a sudden recollection flashed across my mind, and I had no longer ground for doubt.

The cork of the medicine-bottle, when I gave Milly her last dose, had been too large for the bottle; so much so, that I had found it difficult to put it in again after giving the medicine.  The cork of the bottle which I now held in my hand went in loosely enough.  It was a smaller and an older-looking cork.  This decided me.  I placed the bottle under lock and key in Milly’s wardrobe, and I gave her no more medicine that night.

There was no fear of my sleeping at my post after this.  My thoughts for the rest of that night were full of horror and bewilderment.  My course seemed clear enough, in one respect.  The proper person to confide in would be Mr. Hale.  He would be able to discover whether the medicine had been tampered with, and it would be his business to protect his patient.

CHAPTER XII.

DEFEATED.

I went down to the garden for the flowers as usual next morning, as I did not wish to make any palpable change in my arrangements; but before leaving the room I impressed upon Susan Dodd the necessity of remaining with her mistress during every moment of my absence, though I knew I had little need to counsel carefulness.  Nothing was more unlikely than that Susan would neglect her duty for a moment.

Peter came again, as he had come to me on the previous morning.  Again he lingered about me, as if he had something more to say, and could not take courage to say it.  This time the strangeness of his manner aroused my curiosity, and I asked him if he had anything particular to say to me.

‘You must be quick, Peter, whatever it is,’ I said; ’for I am in a great hurry to get back to Miss Darrell.’

‘There is something I want to say, miss,’ he answered, twisting his ragged straw hat round and round in his bony hands, in a nervous way,—­’something I should like to say, but I’m naught but a poor fondy, and don’t know how to begin.  Only you’ve been very good to Peter, you see, miss, sending wine and such things when I was ill, and I ain’t afeard o’ you, as I am o’ some folks.’

’The wine was not mine, Peter.  Be quick, please; tell me what you want to say.’

’I can’t come to it very easy, miss.  It’s something awful-like to tell on.’

‘Something awful?’