"It will be difficult, madam," said Mrs. Turner; "a very difficult thing indeed; for though one may get at their food so as to spice one dish to their taste for ever, yet if it is to be slow poison----" The Countess started, and her warm cheek turned somewhat pale. "Is your Ladyship ill?" asked Mrs. Turner. "No, no!" answered the Countess; "'twas the word poison. Often," she added, slowly and thoughtfully, "we must make use of means we like not to hear named, and the heart shrinks at a word that is most bold in action. But it matters not;--poison--ay, poison!--So let it be!--Why should the sound scare me?--Poison. Well, woman, what was it thou wert saying?" "Why, please you, my Lady, that if slow poison is to be used, we must bribe some man who has constant access to the person, for it must be given daily." "None shall have access but yourself and those you send," replied the Countess. "All food may pass through your hands--and yet I wish this were not to be done. Would that it could be accomplished boldly and openly, without such silent, secret dealings; but that is impossible in this case." "Oh dear, my Lady!" replied Mrs. Turner, in a soothing tone,--"you need not distress yourself about it. You do not know how frequently such things happen." "Ay? Is it often done?" exclaimed the Countess. "Daily, madam," said Mrs. Turner. "Many a rich old miser finds the way to heaven by the tender love his heir bears to his money bags; many a jealous husband troubles his lady's peace no more, after she has learnt the secret of deliverance; many a wise man's secrets find a quiet deposit in the churchyard, which otherwise might have been noised abroad; many a poor girl, betrayed and wearied of, finds peace, by the same hand that took it from her. But that's a shame, I say, and such means should be only used against the strong and the dangerous." The Countess smiled bitterly. "Yes!" she said, looking down, "there are gradations even in such things as these; and dire necessity still justifies the act that else were criminal. And so 'tis often done, good Mrs. Turner? I have heard of it, but knew not it was frequent." "Oh yes, my Lady," answered the fiend; "scarce a day--I am sure not a week passes, without a stone being put up by mourning friends in memory of those whom they would fain forget; and once the earth is shovelled in, you know, it matters little how the dead man went. In truth, to most men, 'tis a charity to cut them off from a few years of sorrow. 'Tis a sad world, full of cares, my Lady; and I know that too, poor creature as I am. Here they are pressing me hard for the rent of my house; and where I am to get it I am sure I cannot tell." "There!" said the Countess, throwing a purse upon the table; "and if you skilfully accomplish that which is needed, you shall be rich."