It would be cowardly to desert a girl, just
because her father and mother happened to be brutes. It is not _her_
fault!”

“I quite allow that! Neither is it the fault of a madman that his
progenitors had lunacy in their blood, nor of a consumptive, that his
were strumous. All the same the facts affect their lives and the lives
of those with whom they come in contact. It is the curse of heredity!”

“Well! and if so, how can it concern anyone but the poor child herself?”

“O! yes, it can and it will! And if I am not greatly mistaken, Harriet
Brandt carries a worse curse with her even than that! She possesses
the fatal attributes of the Vampire that affected her mother’s
birth--that endued her with the thirst for blood, which characterised
her life--that will make Harriet draw upon the health and strength of
all with whom she may be intimately associated--that may render her
love fatal to such as she may cling to! I must tell you, Pullen, that
I fear we have already proofs of this in the illness of your little
niece, whom, her mother tells me, was at one time scarcely ever out of
Miss Brandt’s arms. I have no other means of accounting for her sudden
failure of strength and vitality. You need not stare at me, as if you
thought I do not know what I am talking about! There are many cases
like it in the world. Cases of persons who actually feed upon the lives
of others, as the deadly upas tree sucks the life of its victim, by
lulling him into a sleep from which he never wakens!”

“Phillips, you must be mad! Do you know that you are accusing Miss
Brandt of murder--of killing the child to whom she never shewed
anything but the greatest kindness. Why! I have known her carry little
Ethel about the sands for a whole afternoon.”

“All the worse for poor little Ethel! I do not say she does harm
intentionally or even consciously, but that the deadly attributes of
her bloodthirsty parents have descended on her in this respect, I have
not a shadow of doubt! If you watch that young woman’s career through
life, you will see that those she apparently cares for most, and clings
to most, will soonest fade out of existence, whilst she continues to
live all the stronger that her victims die!”

“Rubbish! I don’t believe it!” replied Ralph sturdily. “You medical
men generally have some crotchet in your brains, but this is the most
wonderful bee that ever buzzed in a bonnet! And all I can say is, that
I should be quite willing to try the experiment!”

“You _have_ tried it, Pullen, in a mild form, and it has had its effect
on you! You are not the same fellow who came over to Heyst, though by
all rules, you should be looking better and stronger for the change. And Margaret has already complained to me of the strange effect this
girl has had upon her! But you must not breathe a suspicion to her
concerning the child’s illness, or I verily believe she would murder
Miss Brandt!”

“Putting all this nonsense aside,” said Ralph, “do you consider
Margaret’s baby to be seriously ill?”

“Very seriously. My medicines have not had the slightest effect upon
her condition, which is inexplicable. Her little life is being slowly
sapped. She may cease to breathe at any moment. But I have not yet had
the courage to tell your sister the truth!”

“How disappointed poor Arthur will be!”

“Yes! but his grief will be nothing to the mother’s. She is quite
devoted to her child!”

By mutual consent, they had dropped the subject of Harriet Brandt, and
now spoke only of family affairs. Ralph was a kind-hearted fellow under
all his conceit, and felt very grave at the prospect held out in regard
to his baby niece. The fulfilment of the prophecy came sooner than even Doctor
Phillips had anticipated. As they were all sitting at dinner that
evening, Madame Lamont, her eyes over-brimming with tears, rushed
unceremoniously into the _salle à manger_, calling to Margaret. “Madame! Madame! please come up to your room at once! The dear baby is
worse!”

Margaret threw one agonised glance at Doctor Phillips and rushed from
the room, followed by himself and Elinor Leyton. The high staircase
seemed interminable--more than once Margaret’s legs failed under her
and she thought she should never reach the top. But she did so all too
soon. On the bed was laid the infant form, limp and lifeless, and
Martin the nurse met them at the door, bathed in tears. “Oh! Ma’am!” she cried, “it happened all of a minute! She was lying on
my lap, pretty dear, just as usual, when she went off in a convulsion
and died.”

“Died, died!” echoed Margaret in a bewildered voice, “Doctor Phillips! _who_ is it that has died?”

“The baby, Ma’am, the dear baby! She went off like a lamb, without a
struggle! O! dear mistress, do try to bear it!”

“Is my baby--_dead_?” said Margaret in the same dazed voice, turning to
the doctor who had already satisfied himself that the tiny heart and
pulse had ceased to beat. “No! my dear child, she is not dead--she is living--with God! Try to
think of her as quite happy and free from this world’s ill.”

“O! but I _wanted_ her so--I _wanted_ her,” exclaimed the bereaved
mother, as she clasped the senseless form in her arms, “O! baby! baby! why did you go, before you had seen your father?”

And then she slid, rather than sank, from the bedside, in a tumbled
heap upon the floor. “It is better so--it will help her through it,” said Doctor Phillips,
as he directed the nurse to carry the dead child into Elinor Leyton’s
room, and placed Margaret on her own bed. “You will not object, Miss
Leyton, I am sure, and you must not leave Mrs. Pullen to-night!”

“Of course I shall not,” replied Elinor; “I have been afraid for days
past that this would happen, but poor Margaret would not take any
hints.”

She spoke sympathetically, but there were no tears in her eyes, and she
did not caress, nor attempt to console her friend. She did all that was
required of her, but there was no spontaneous suggestion on her part,
with regard either to the mother, or the dead child, and as Doctor
Phillips noted her coolness, he did not wonder so much at Ralph’s being
attracted by the fervour and warmth of Harriet Brandt. As soon as poor Margaret had revived and had her cry out, he
administered a sleeping draught to her, and leaving her in charge of
Elinor Leyton, he went downstairs again to consult Captain Pullen as to
what would be the best thing for them to do. Ralph was very much shocked to hear of the baby’s sudden death, and
eager to do all in his power for his brother’s wife. There was no
Protestant cemetery in Heyst, and Doctor Phillips proposed that they
should at once order a little shell, and convey the child’s body either
to Ostende or England, as Margaret might desire, for burial. The sooner
she left the place where she had lost her child, he said, the better,
and his idea was that she would wish the body to be taken to Devonshire
and buried in the quiet country churchyard, where her husband’s father
and mother were laid to sleep.