But Leam knew nothing of the poetry of the moment—­felt nothing of its pathetic irony in view of the deed she was half-unconsciously designing.  She saw only, at first dimly, then distinctly, that here were the means by which mamma’s enemy might be punished and swept from mamma’s place, and that if she failed her opportunity now she would be a traitor and a coward, and would fail in her love and duty to mamma.  No, she would not fail.  Why should she?  It was the way which the saints themselves had opened, the thing she had to do; and the sooner it was done the better for mamma.

She uncorked the bottle of cherry-water, good for that troublesome heart of poor madame’s.  All that Alick had told her of the action of poisons came back upon her as clearly as her mother’s words, her mother’s voice.  This cherry-water, too, had the smell of bitter almonds, and was own sister to that in the little phial in her other hand.  Now she understood it all—­why she had been taken to Steel’s Corner, why Alick had taught her about poisons, and why her mamma had told her to steal that bottle.  She looked at it with its eloquent paper marked “Poison” wound about it spirally like a snake, uncorked it and emptied half into the cherry-water.

“Two drops are enough, and there are more than two there,” she said to herself.  “Mamma must be safe now.”  And with this she left the room and went into her own to watch and wait.

It was early to-night when Mrs. Dundas retired.  There were certain things which she wanted to do on this her first night in her new home; and among them she wanted to put that green velvet pocket-book, gold embroidered, in some absolutely safe place, where it would not be seen by prying eyes or fall into dangerous hands.  She did not intend to destroy its contents.  She knew enough of the uncertainty of life to hold by all sorts of anchorages; and though things looked safe and sweet enough now, they might drift into the shallows again, and she wished her little Fina’s future to be assured by one or other of those charged with it—­if the stepfather failed, then to fall back on the father.  Wherefore she elected to keep these papers in a safe place rather than destroy them, and the safest place she could think of was Pepita’s jewel-case, now her own.  It had a curious lock, which no other key than its own would fit—­a lock that would have baffled even a “cracksman” and his whole bunch of skeleton keys.

In putting them away, obliged for the need of space to take off the paper wrappings, she was foolish enough to look at the photographs within—­just one last look before banishing them for ever from her sight, as an honest wife should—­and the sight of the handsome young face which she had loved sincerely in its day, and which was the face of her child’s father, shook her nerves more than she liked them to be shaken.  That troublesome heart of hers had begun to play her strange tricks of late with palpitation and irregularity.  She could not afford that her nerve should fail her.  That gone, nothing would remain to her but a wreck.  But her cherry-water was a pleasant and safe calmant, and she knew exactly how much to take.