He did not answer immediately. She looked at him searchingly and in suspense. He never could endure this questioning look of hers, and he ran to her, put his arms round her waist, and clasped to her side, hid his face in her gown.
"Only a little."
"A little what?"
"I don't know."
"Jamie, no lies. There was a blue paper there containing poison, that you were not to have unless there were occasion for it—some bird-skin to be preserved and dressed with it. Now, did you take that?"
"Yes."
"Go and bring it back to me immediately."
"I can't."
"Why not? Where is it?"
The boy fidgeted, looked up in his sister's face to see what expression it bore, buried his head again, and said:
"Ju! he is rightly called Cruel. I hate him, and so do you, don't you, Ju? I have put the arsenic into his oatmeal, and we will get rid of him and be free and go away. It will be jolly."
"Jamie!" with a cry of horror.
"He won't whip me and scold you any more."
"Jamie! Oh, my Lord, have pity on him! have pity on us!"
She clasped her hands to her head, rushed from the room, and flew down the stairs.
But ten minutes before that Judith had given Coppinger his bowl of porridge. He had risen late that morning. He was better, he said, and he looked more himself than the preceding day. He was now seated at the table in the hall, and had poured the fresh milk into the bowl, had dipped the spoon, put some of the porridge to his mouth, tasted, and was looking curiously into the spoon, when the door was flung open, Judith entered, and without a word of explanation, caught the bowl from him and dashed it on the floor.
Coppinger looked at her with his boring, dark eyes intently, and said: "What is the meaning of this?"
"It is poisoned."
Judith was breathless. She drew back relieved at having cast away the fatal mess.
