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diff --git a/old/isyan10.txt b/old/isyan10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ffd7a03..0000000 --- a/old/isyan10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15881 +0,0 @@ -***The Project Gutenberg Etext of I Say No, by Wilkie Collins*** -#18 in our series by Wilkie Collins - - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check -the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! - -Please take a look at the important information in this header. -We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an -electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and -further information is included below. 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Italics are -indicated by underscores.] - - - - - -"I SAY NO." - -by WILKIE COLLINS - - - - -BOOK THE FIRST--AT SCHOOL. - -CHAPTER I. - -THE SMUGGLED SUPPER. - -Outside the bedroom the night was black and still. - -The small rain fell too softly to be heard in the garden; not a -leaf stirred in the airless calm; the watch-dog was asleep, the -cats were indoors; far or near, under the murky heaven, not a -sound was stirring. - -Inside the bedroom the night was black and still. - -Miss Ladd knew her business as a schoolmistress too well to allow -night-lights; and Miss Ladd's young ladies were supposed to be -fast asleep, in accordance with the rules of the house. Only at -intervals the silence was faintly disturbed, when the restless -turning of one of the girls in her bed betrayed itself by a -gentle rustling between the sheets. In the long intervals of -stillness, not even the softly audible breathing of young -creatures asleep was to be heard. - -The first sound that told of life and movement revealed the -mechanical movement of the clock. Speaking from the lower -regions, the tongue of Father Time told the hour before midnight. - -A soft voice rose wearily near the door of the room. It counted -the strokes of the clock--and reminded one of the girls of the -lapse of time. - -"Emily! eleven o'clock." - -There was no reply. After an interval the weary voice tried -again, in louder tones: - -"Emily!" - -A girl, whose bed was at the inner end of the room, sighed under -the heavy heat of the night--and said, in peremptory tones, "Is -that Cecilia?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you want?" - -"I'm getting hungry, Emily. Is the new girl asleep?" - -The new girl answered promptly and spitefully, "No, she isn't." - -Having a private object of their own in view, the five wise -virgins of Miss Ladd's first class had waited an hour, in wakeful -anticipation of the falling asleep of the stranger--and it had -ended in this way! A ripple of laughter ran round the room. The -new girl, mortified and offended, entered her protest in plain -words. - -"You are treating me shamefully! You all distrust me, because I -am a stranger." - -"Say we don't understand you," Emily answered, speaking for her -schoolfellows; "and you will be nearer the truth." - -"Who expected you to understand me, when I only came here to-day? -I have told you already my name is Francine de Sor. If want to -know more, I'm nineteen years old, and I come from the West -Indies." - -Emily still took the lead. "Why do you come _here?_" she asked. -"Who ever heard of a girl joining a new school just before the -holidays? You are nineteen years old, are you? I'm a year younger -than you--and I have finished my education. The next big girl in -the room is a year younger than me--and she has finished her -education. What can you possibly have left to learn at your age?" - -"Everything!" cried the stranger from the West Indies, with an -outburst of tears. "I'm a poor ignorant creature. Your education -ought to have taught you to pity me instead of making fun of me. -I hate you all. For shame, for shame!" - -Some of the girls laughed. One of them--the hungry girl who had -counted the strokes of the clock--took Francine's part. - -"Never mind their laughing, Miss de Sor. You are quite right, you -have good reason to complain of us." - -Miss de Sor dried her eyes. "Thank you--whoever you are," she -answered briskly. - -"My name is Cecilia Wyvil," the other proceeded. "It was not, -perhaps, quite nice of you to say you hated us all. At the same -time we have forgotten our good breeding--and the least we can do -is to beg your pardon." - -This expression of generous sentiment appeared to have an -irritating effect on the peremptory young person who took the -lead in the room. Perhaps she disapproved of free trade in -generous sentiment. - -"I can tell you one thing, Cecilia," she said; "you shan't beat -ME in generosity. Strike a light, one of you, and lay the blame -on me if Miss Ladd finds us out. I mean to shake hands with the -new girl--and how can I do it in the dark? Miss de Sor, my name's -Brown, and I'm queen of the bedroom. I--not Cecilia--offer our -apologies if we have offended you. Cecilia is my dearest friend, -but I don't allow her to take the lead in the room. Oh, what a -lovely nightgown!" - -The sudden flow of candle-light had revealed Francine, sitting up -in her bed, and displaying such treasures of real lace over her -bosom that the queen lost all sense of royal dignity in -irrepressible admiration. "Seven and sixpence," Emily remarked, -looking at her own night-gown and despising it. One after -another, the girls yielded to the attraction of the wonderful -lace. Slim and plump, fair and dark, they circled round the new -pupil in their flowing white robes, and arrived by common consent -at one and the same conclusion: "How rich her father must be!" - -Favored by fortune in the matter of money, was this enviable -person possessed of beauty as well? - -In the disposition of the beds, Miss de Sor was placed between -Cecilia on the right hand, and Emily on the left. If, by some -fantastic turn of events, a man--say in the interests of -propriety, a married doctor, with Miss Ladd to look after -him--had been permitted to enter the room, and had been asked -what he thought of the girls when he came out, he would not even -have mentioned Francine. Blind to the beauties of the expensive -night-gown, he would have noticed her long upper lip, her -obstinate chin, her sallow complexion, her eyes placed too close -together--and would have turned his attention to her nearest -neighbors. On one side his languid interest would have been -instantly roused by Cecilia's glowing auburn hair, her -exquisitely pure skin, and her tender blue eyes. On the other, he -would have discovered a bright little creature, who would have -fascinated and perplexed him at one and the same time. If he had -been questioned about her by a stranger, he would have been at a -loss to say positively whether she was dark or light: he would -have remembered how her eyes had held him, but he would not have -known of what color they were. And yet, she would have remained a -vivid picture in his memory when other impressions, derived at -the same time, had vanished. "There was one little witch among -them, who was worth all the rest put together; and I can't tell -you why. They called her Emily. If I wasn't a married man--" -There he would have thought of his wife, and would have sighed -and said no more. - -While the girls were still admiring Francine, the clock struck -the half-hour past eleven. - -Cecilia stole on tiptoe to the door--looked out, and -listened--closed the door again--and addressed the meeting with -the irresistible charm of her sweet voice and her persuasive -smile. - -"Are none of you hungry yet?" she inquired. "The teachers are -safe in their rooms; we have set ourselves right with Francine. -Why keep the supper waiting under Emily's bed?" - -Such reasoning as this, with such personal attractions to -recommend it, admitted of but one reply. The queen waved her hand -graciously, and said, "Pull it out." - -Is a lovely girl--whose face possesses the crowning charm of -expression, whose slightest movement reveals the supple symmetry -of her figure--less lovely because she is blessed with a good -appetite, and is not ashamed to acknowledge it? With a grace all -her own, Cecilia dived under the bed, and produced a basket of -jam tarts, a basket of fruit and sweetmeats, a basket of -sparkling lemonade, and a superb cake--all paid for by general -subscriptions, and smuggled into the room by kind connivance of -the servants. On this occasion, the feast was especially -plentiful and expensive, in commemoration not only of the arrival -of the Midsummer holidays, but of the coming freedom of Miss -Ladd's two leading young ladies. With widely different destinies -before them, Emily and Cecilia had completed their school life, -and were now to go out into the world. - -The contrast in the characters of the two girls showed itself, -even in such a trifle as the preparations for supper. - -Gentle Cecilia, sitting on the floor surrounded by good things, -left it to the ingenuity of others to decide whether the baskets -should be all emptied at once, or handed round - from bed to bed, one at a time. In the meanwhile, her lovely -blue eyes rested tenderly on the tarts. - -Emily's commanding spirit seized on the reins of government, and -employed each of her schoolfellows in the occupation which she -was fittest to undertake. "Miss de Sor, let me look at your hand. -Ah! I thought so. You have got the thickest wrist among us; you -shall draw the corks. If you let the lemonade pop, not a drop of -it goes down your throat. Effie, Annis, Priscilla, you are three -notoriously lazy girls; it's doing you a true kindness to set you -to work. Effie, clear the toilet-table for supper; away with the -combs, the brushes, and the looking-glass. Annis, tear the leaves -out of your book of exercises, and set them out for plates. No! -I'll unpack; nobody touches the baskets but me. Priscilla, you -have the prettiest ears in the room. You shall act as sentinel, -my dear, and listen at the door. Cecilia, when you have done -devouring those tarts with your eyes, take that pair of scissors -(Miss de Sor, allow me to apologize for the mean manner in which -this school is carried on; the knives and forks are counted and -locked up every night)--I say take that pair of scissors, -Cecilia, and carve the cake, and don't keep the largest bit for -yourself. Are we all ready? Very well. Now take example by me. -Talk as much as you like, so long as you don't talk too loud. -There is one other thing before we begin. The men always propose -toasts on these occasions; let's be like the men. Can any of you -make a speech? Ah, it falls on me as usual. I propose the first -toast. Down with all schools and teachers--especially the new -teacher, who came this half year. Oh, mercy, how it stings!" The -fixed gas in the lemonade took the orator, at that moment, by the -throat, and effectually checked the flow of her eloquence. It -made no difference to the girls. Excepting the ease of feeble -stomachs, who cares for eloquence in the presence of a -supper-table? There were no feeble stomachs in that bedroom. With -what inexhaustible energy Miss Ladd's young ladies ate and drank! -How merrily they enjoyed the delightful privilege of talking -nonsense! And--alas! alas!--how vainly they tried, in after life, -to renew the once unalloyed enjoyment of tarts and lemonade! - -In the unintelligible scheme of creation, there appears to be no -human happiness--not even the happiness of schoolgirls--which is -ever complete. Just as it was drawing to a close, the enjoyment -of the feast was interrupted by an alarm from the sentinel at the -door. - -Put out the candle!" Priscilla whispered "Somebody on the -stairs." - -CHAPTER II. - -BIOGRAPHY IN THE BEDROOM. - -The candle was instantly extinguished. In discreet silence the -girls stole back to their beds, and listened. - -As an aid to the vigilance of the sentinel, the door had been -left ajar. Through the narrow opening, a creaking of the broad -wooden stairs of the old house became audible. In another moment -there was silence. An interval passed, and the creaking was heard -again. This time, the sound was distant and diminishing. On a -sudden it stopped. The midnight silence was disturbed no more. - -What did this mean? - -Had one among the many persons in authority under Miss Ladd's -roof heard the girls talking, and ascended the stairs to surprise -them in the act of violating one of the rules of the house? So -far, such a proceeding was by no means uncommon. But was it -within the limits of probability that a teacher should alter her -opinion of her own duty half-way up the stairs, and deliberately -go back to her own room again? The bare idea of such a thing was -absurd on the face of it. What more rational explanation could -ingenuity discover on the spur of the moment? - -Francine was the first to offer a suggestion. She shook and -shivered in her bed, and said, "For heaven's sake, light the -candle again! It's a Ghost." - -"Clear away the supper, you fools, before the ghost can report us -to Miss Ladd." - -With this excellent advice Emily checked the rising panic. The -door was closed, the candle was lit; all traces of the supper -disappeared. For five minutes more they listened again. No sound -came from the stairs; no teacher, or ghost of a teacher, appeared -at the door. - -Having eaten her supper, Cecilia's immediate anxieties were at an -end; she was at leisure to exert her intelligence for the benefit -of her schoolfellows. In her gentle ingratiating way, she offered -a composing suggestion. "When we heard the creaking, I don't -believe there was anybody on the stairs. In these old houses -there are always strange noises at night--and they say the stairs -here were made more than two hundred years since." - -The girls looked at each other with a sense of relief--but they -waited to hear the opinion of the queen. Emily, as usual, -justified the confidence placed in her. She discovered an -ingenious method of putting Cecilia's suggestion to the test. - -"Let's go on talking," she said. "If Cecilia is right, the -teachers are all asleep, and we have nothing to fear from them. -If she's wrong, we shall sooner or later see one of them at the -door. Don't be alarmed, Miss de Sor. Catching us talking at -night, in this school, only means a reprimand. Catching us with a -light, ends in punishment. Blow out the candle." - -Francine's belief in the ghost was too sincerely superstitious to -be shaken: she started up in bed. "Oh, don't leave me in the -dark! I'll take the punishment, if we are found out." - -"On your sacred word of honor?" Emily stipulated. - -"Yes--yes." - -The queen's sense of humor was tickled. - -"There's something funny," she remarked, addressing her subjects, -"in a big girl like this coming to a new school and beginning -with a punishment. May I ask if you are a foreigner, Miss de -Sor?" - -"My papa is a Spanish gentleman," Francine answered, with -dignity. - -"And your mamma?" - -"My mamma is English." - -"And you have always lived in the West Indies?" - -"I have always lived in the Island of St. Domingo." - -Emily checked off on her fingers the different points thus far -discovered in the character of Mr. de Sor's daughter. "She's -ignorant, and superstitious, and foreign, and rich. My dear -(forgive the familiarity), you are an interesting girl--and we -must really know more of you. Entertain the bedroom. What have -you been about all your life? And what in the name of wonder, -brings you here? Before you begin I insist on one condition, in -the name of all the young ladies in the room. No useful -information about the West Indies!" - -Francine disappointed her audience. - -She was ready enough to make herself an object of interest to her -companions; but she was not possessed of the capacity to arrange -events in their proper order, necessary to the recital of the -simplest narrative. Emily was obliged to help her, by means of -questions. In one respect, the result justified the trouble taken -to obtain it. A sufficient reason was discovered for the -extraordinary appearance of a new pupil, on the day before the -school closed for the holidays. - -Mr. de Sor's elder brother had left him an estate in St. Domingo, -and a fortune in money as well; on the one easy condition that he -continued to reside in the island. The question of expense being -now beneath the notice of the family, Francine had been sent to -England, especially recommended to Miss Ladd as a young lady with -grand prospects, sorely in need of a fashionable education. The -voyage had been so timed, by the advice of the schoolmistress, as -to make the holidays a means of obtaining this object privately. -Francine was to be taken to Brighton, where excellent masters -could be obtained to assist Miss Ladd. With six weeks before her, -she might in some degree make up for lost time; and, when the -school opened again, she would avoid the mortification of being -put down in the lowest class, along with the children. - -The examination of Miss de Sor having produced these results was -pursued no further. Her character now appeared in a new, and not -very attractive, light. She audaciously took to herself the whole -credit of telling her story: - -"I think it's my turn now," she said, "to be interested and -amused. May I ask you to begin, Miss Emily? All I know of you at -present is, t hat your family name is Brown." - -Emily held up her hand for silence. - -Was the mysterious creaking on the stairs making itself heard -once more? No. The sound that had caught Emily's quick ear came -from the beds, on the opposite side of the room, occupied by the -three lazy girls. With no new alarm to disturb them, Effie, -Annis, and Priscilla had yielded to the composing influences of a -good supper and a warm night. They were fast asleep--and the -stoutest of the three (softly, as became a young lady) was -snoring! - -The unblemished reputation of the bedroom was dear to Emily, in -her capacity of queen. She felt herself humiliated in the -presence of the new pupil. - -"If that fat girl ever gets a lover," she said indignantly, "I -shall consider it my duty to warn the poor man before he marries -her. Her ridiculous name is Euphemia. I have christened her (far -more appropriately) Boiled Veal. No color in her hair, no color -in her eyes, no color in her complexion. In short, no flavor in -Euphemia. You naturally object to snoring. Pardon me if I turn my -back on you--I am going to throw my slipper at her." - -The soft voice of Cecilia--suspiciously drowsy in -tone--interposed in the interests of mercy. - -"She can't help it, poor thing; and she really isn't loud enough -to disturb us." - -"She won't disturb _you_, at any rate! Rouse yourself, Cecilia. -We are wide awake on this side of the room--and Francine says -it's our turn to amuse her." - -A low murmur, dying away gently in a sigh, was the only answer. -Sweet Cecilia had yielded to the somnolent influences of the -supper and the night. The soft infection of repose seemed to be -in some danger of communicating itself to Francine. Her large -mouth opened luxuriously in a long-continued yawn. - -"Good-night!" said Emily. - -Miss de Sor became wide awake in an instant. - -"No," she said positively; "you are quite mistaken if you think I -am going to sleep. Please exert yourself, Miss Emily--I am -waiting to be interested." - -Emily appeared to be unwilling to exert herself. She preferred -talking of the weather. - -"Isn't the wind rising?" she said. - -There could be no doubt of it. The leaves in the garden were -beginning to rustle, and the pattering of the rain sounded on the -windows. - -Francine (as her straight chin proclaimed to all students of -physiognomy) was an obstinate girl. Determined to carry her point -she tried Emily's own system on Emily herself--she put questions. - -"Have you been long at this school?" - -"More than three years." - -"Have you got any brothers and sisters?" - -"I am the only child." - -"Are your father and mother alive?" - -Emily suddenly raised herself in bed. - -"Wait a minute," she said; "I think I hear it again." - -"The creaking on the stairs?" - -"Yes." - -Either she was mistaken, or the change for the worse in the -weather made it not easy to hear slight noises in the house. The -wind was still rising. The passage of it through the great trees -in the garden began to sound like the fall of waves on a distant -beach. It drove the rain--a heavy downpour by this time--rattling -against the windows. - -"Almost a storm, isn't it?" Emily said - -Francine's last question had not been answered yet. She took the -earliest opportunity of repeating it: - -"Never mind the weather," she said. "Tell me about your father -and mother. Are they both alive?" - -Emily's reply only related to one of her parents. - -"My mother died before I was old enough to feel my loss." - -"And your father?" - -Emily referred to another relative--her father's sister. "Since I -have grown up," she proceeded, "my good aunt has been a second -mother to me. My story is, in one respect, the reverse of yours. -You are unexpectedly rich; and I am unexpectedly poor. My aunt's -fortune was to have been my fortune, if I outlived her. She has -been ruined by the failure of a bank. In her old age, she must -live on an income of two hundred a year--and I must get my own -living when I leave school." - -"Surely your father can help you?" Francine persisted. - -"His property is landed property." Her voice faltered, as she -referred to him, even in that indirect manner. "It is entailed; -his nearest male relative inherits it." - -The delicacy which is easily discouraged was not one of the -weaknesses in the nature of Francine. - -"Do I understand that your father is dead?" she asked. - -Our thick-skinned fellow-creatures have the rest of us at their -mercy: only give them time, and they carry their point in the -end. In sad subdued tones--telling of deeply-rooted reserves of -feeling, seldom revealed to strangers--Emily yielded at last. - -"Yes," she said, "my father is dead." - -"Long ago?" - -"Some people might think it long ago. I was very fond of my -father. It's nearly four years since he died, and my heart still -aches when I think of him. I'm not easily depressed by troubles, -Miss de Sor. But his death was sudden--he was in his grave when I -first heard of it--and-- Oh, he was so good to me; he was so good -to me!" - -The gay high-spirited little creature who took the lead among -them all--who was the life and soul of the school--hid her face -in her hands, and burst out crying. - -Startled and--to do her justice--ashamed, Francine attempted to -make excuses. Emily's generous nature passed over the cruel -persistency that had tortured her. "No no; I have nothing to -forgive. It isn't your fault. Other girls have not mothers and -brothers and sisters--and get reconciled to such a loss as mine. -Don't make excuses." - -"Yes, but I want you to know that I feel for you," Francine -insisted, without the slightest approach to sympathy in face, -voice, or manner. "When my uncle died, and left us all the money, -papa was much shocked. He trusted to time to help him." - -"Time has been long about it with me, Francine. I am afraid there -is something perverse in my nature; the hope of meeting again in -a better world seems so faint and so far away. No more of it now! -Let us talk of that good creature who is asleep on the other side -of you. Did I tell you that I must earn my own bread when I leave -school? Well, Cecilia has written home and found an employment -for me. Not a situation as governess--something quite out of the -common way. You shall hear all about it." - -In the brief interval that had passed, the weather had begun to -change again. The wind was as high as ever; but to judge by the -lessening patter on the windows the rain was passing away. - -Emily began. - -She was too grateful to her friend and school-fellow, and too -deeply interested in her story, to notice the air of indifference -with which Francine settled herself on her pillow to hear the -praises of Cecilia. The most beautiful girl in the school was not -an object of interest to a young lady with an obstinate chin and -unfortunately-placed eyes. Pouring warm from the speaker's heart -the story ran smoothly on, to the monotonous accompaniment of the -moaning wind. By fine degrees Francine's eyes closed, opened and -closed again. Toward the latter part of the narrative Emily's -memory became, for the moment only, confused between two events. -She stopped to consider--noticed Francine's silence, in an -interval when she might have said a word of encouragement--and -looked closer at her. Miss de Sor was asleep. - -"She might have told me she was tired," Emily said to herself -quietly. "Well! the best thing I can do is to put out the light -and follow her example." - -As she took up the extinguisher, the bedroom door was suddenly -opened from the outer side. A tall woman, robed in a black -dressing-gown, stood on the threshold, looking at Emily. - - -CHAPTER III. - -THE LATE MR. BROWN. - -The woman's lean, long-fingered hand pointed to the candle. - -"Don't put it out." Saying those words, she looked round the -room, and satisfied herself that the other girls were asleep. - -Emily laid down the extinguisher. "You mean to report us, of -course," she said. "I am the only one awake, Miss Jethro; lay the -blame on me." - -"I have no intention of reporting you. But I have something to -say." - -She paused, and pushed her thick black hair (already streaked -with gray) back from her temples. Her eyes, large and dark and -dim, rested on Emily with a sorrowful interest. "When your young -friends wake to-morrow morning," she went on, "you can tell them -that the new teacher, whom nobody likes, has left the school." - -For once, even quick-witted Emily was bewildered. "Going away," -she said, "when you have only been here since Easter!" - -Miss Jethro advanced, not noticing Emily's expression of -surprise. "I am not very strong at the best of times," she -continued, "may I sit down on your bed?" Remarkable on other -occasions for her cold composure, her voice trembled as she made -that request--a strange request surely, when there were chairs at -her disposal. - -Emily made room for her with the dazed look of a girl in a dream. -"I beg your pardon, Miss Jethro, one of the things I can't endure -is being puzzled. If you don't mean to report us, why did you -come in and catch me with the light?" - -Miss Jethro's explanation was far from relieving the perplexity -which her conduct had caused. - -"I have been mean enough," she answered, "to listen at the door, -and I heard you talking of your father. I want to hear more about -him. That is why I came in." - -"You knew my father!" Emily exclaimed. - -"I believe I knew him. But his name is so common--there are so -many thousands of 'James Browns' in England--that I am in fear of -making a mistake. I heard you say that he died nearly four years -since. Can you mention any particulars which might help to -enlighten me? If you think I am taking a liberty--" - -Emily stopped her. "I would help you if I could," she said. "But -I was in poor health at the time; and I was staying with friends -far away in Scotland, to try change of air. The news of my -father's death brought on a relapse. Weeks passed before I was -strong enough to travel--weeks and weeks before I saw his grave! -I can only tell you what I know from my aunt. He died of -heart-complaint." - -Miss Jethro started. - -Emily looked at her for the first time, with eyes that betrayed a -feeling of distrust. "What have I said to startle you?" she -asked. - -"Nothing! I am nervous in stormy weather--don't notice me." She -went on abruptly with her inquiries. "Will you tell me the date -of your father's death?" - -"The date was the thirtieth of September, nearly four years -since." - -She waited, after that reply. - -Miss Jethro was silent. - -"And this," Emily continued, "is the thirtieth of June, eighteen -hundred and eighty-one. You can now judge for yourself. Did you -know my father?" - -Miss Jethro answered mechanically, using the same words. - -"I did know your father." - -Emily's feeling of distrust was not set at rest. "I never heard -him speak of you," she said. - -In her younger days the teacher must have been a handsome woman. -Her grandly-formed features still suggested the idea of imperial -beauty--perhaps Jewish in its origin. When Emily said, "I never -heard him speak of you," the color flew into her pallid cheeks: -her dim eyes became alive again with a momentary light. She left -her seat on the bed, and, turning away, mastered the emotion that -shook her. - -"How hot the night is!" she said: and sighed, and resumed the -subject with a steady countenance. "I am not surprised that your -father never mentioned me--to _you_." She spoke quietly, but her -face was paler than ever. She sat down again on the bed. "Is -there anything I can do for you," she asked, "before I go away? -Oh, I only mean some trifling service that would lay you under no -obligation, and would not oblige you to keep up your acquaintance -with me." - -Her eyes--the dim black eyes that must once have been -irresistibly beautiful--looked at Emily so sadly that the -generous girl reproached herself for having doubted her father's -friend. "Are you thinking of _him_," she said gently, "when you -ask if you can be of service to me?" - -Miss Jethro made no direct reply. "You were fond of your father?" -she added, in a whisper. "You told your schoolfellow that your -heart still aches when you speak of him." - -"I only told her the truth," Emily answered simply. - -Miss Jethro shuddered--on that hot night!--shuddered as if a -chill had struck her. - -Emily held out her hand; the kind feeling that had been roused in -her glittered prettily in her eyes. "I am afraid I have not done -you justice," she said. "Will you forgive me and shake hands?" - -Miss Jethro rose, and drew back. "Look at the light!" she -exclaimed. - -The candle was all burned out. Emily still offered her hand--and -still Miss Jethro refused to see it. - -"There is just light enough left," she said, "to show me my way -to the door. Good-night--and good-by." - -Emily caught at her dress, and stopped her. "Why won't you shake -hands with me?" she asked. - -The wick of the candle fell over in the socket, and left them in -the dark. Emily resolutely held the teacher's dress. With or -without light, she was still bent on making Miss Jethro explain -herself. - -They had throughout spoken in guarded tones, fearing to disturb -the sleeping girls. The sudden darkness had its inevitable -effect. Their voices sank to whispers now. "My father's friend," -Emily pleaded, "is surely my friend?" - -"Drop the subject." - -"Why?" - -"You can never be _my_ friend." - -"Why not?" - -"Let me go!" - -Emily's sense of self-respect forbade her to persist any longer. -"I beg your pardon for having kept you here against your will," -she said--and dropped her hold on the dress. - -Miss Jethro instantly yielded on her side. "I am sorry to have -been obstinate," she answered. "If you do despise me, it is after -all no more than I have deserved." Her hot breath beat on Emily's -face: the unhappy woman must have bent over the bed as she made -her confession. "I am not a fit person for you to associate -with." - -"I don't believe it!" - -Miss Jethro sighed bitterly. "Young and warm hearted--I was once -like you!" She controlled that outburst of despair. Her next -words were spoken in steadier tones. "You _will_ have it--you -_shall_ have it!" she said. "Some one (in this house or out of -it; I don't know which) has betrayed me to the mistress of the -school. A wretch in my situation suspects everybody, and worse -still, does it without reason or excuse. I heard you girls -talking when you ought to have been asleep. You all dislike me. -How did I know it mightn't be one of you? Absurd, to a person -with a well-balanced mind! I went halfway up the stairs, and felt -ashamed of myself, and went back to my room. If I could only have -got some rest! Ah, well, it was not to be done. My own vile -suspicions kept me awake; I left my bed again. You know what I -heard on the other side of that door, and why I was interested in -hearing it. Your father never told me he had a daughter. 'Miss -Brown,' at this school, was any 'Miss Brown,' to me. I had no -idea of who you really were until to-night. I'm wandering. What -does all this matter to you? Miss Ladd has been merciful; she -lets me go without exposing me. You can guess what has happened. -No? Not even yet? Is it innocence or kindness that makes you so -slow to understand? My dear, I have obtained admission to this -respectable house by means of false references, and I have been -discovered. _Now_ you know why you must not be the friend of such -a woman as I am! Once more, good-night--and good-by." - -Emily shrank from that miserable farewell. - -"Bid me good-night," she said, "but don't bid me good-by. Let me -see you again." - -"Never!" - -The sound of the softly-closed door was just audible in the -darkness. She had spoken--she had gone--never to be seen by Emily -again. - -Miserable, interesting, unfathomable creature--the problem that -night of Emily's waking thoughts: the phantom of her dreams. -"Bad? or good?" she asked herself. "False; for she listened at -the door. True; for she told me the tale of her own disgrace. A -friend of my father; and she never knew that he had a daughter. -Refined, accomplished, lady-like; and she stoops to use a false -reference. Who is to reconcile such contradictions as these?" - -Dawn looked in at the window--dawn of the memorable day which -was, for Emily, the beginning of a new life. The years were -before her; and the years in their course reveal baffling -mysteries of life and death. - - -CHAPTER IV. - -MISS LADD'S DRAWING-MASTER. - -Francine was awakened the next morning by one of the housemaids, -bringing up her breakfast on a tray. Astonished at this -concession to laziness, i n an institution devoted to the -practice of all virtues, she looked round. The bedroom was -deserted. - -"The other young ladies are as busy as bees, miss," the housemaid -explained. "They were up and dressed two hours ago: and the -breakfast has been cleared away long since. It's Miss Emily's -fault. She wouldn't allow them to wake you; she said you could be -of no possible use downstairs, and you had better be treated like -a visitor. Miss Cecilia was so distressed at your missing your -breakfast that she spoke to the housekeeper, and I was sent up to -you. Please to excuse it if the tea's cold. This is Grand Day, -and we are all topsy-turvy in consequence." - -Inquiring what "Grand Day" meant, and why it produced this -extraordinary result in a ladies' school, Francine discovered -that the first day of the vacation was devoted to the -distribution of prizes, in the presence of parents, guardians and -friends. An Entertainment was added, comprising those merciless -tests of human endurance called Recitations; light refreshments -and musical performances being distributed at intervals, to -encourage the exhausted audience. The local newspaper sent a -reporter to describe the proceedings, and some of Miss Ladd's -young ladies enjoyed the intoxicating luxury of seeing their -names in print. - -"It begins at three o'clock," the housemaid went on, "and, what -with practicing and rehearsing, and ornamenting the schoolroom, -there's a hubbub fit to make a person's head spin. Besides -which," said the girl, lowering her voice, and approaching a -little nearer to Francine, "we have all been taken by surprise. -The first thing in the morning Miss Jethro left us, without -saying good-by to anybody." - -"Who is Miss Jethro?" - -"The new teacher, miss. We none of us liked her, and we all -suspect there's something wrong. Miss Ladd and the clergyman had -a long talk together yesterday (in private, you know), and they -sent for Miss Jethro--which looks bad, doesn't it? Is there -anything more I can do for you, miss? It's a beautiful day after -the rain. If I was you, I should go and enjoy myself in the -garden." - -Having finished her breakfast, Francine decided on profiting by -this sensible suggestion. - -The servant who showed her the way to the garden was not -favorably impressed by the new pupil: Francine's temper asserted -itself a little too plainly in her face. To a girl possessing a -high opinion of her own importance it was not very agreeable to -feel herself excluded, as an illiterate stranger, from the one -absorbing interest of her schoolfellows. "Will the time ever -come," she wondered bitterly, "when I shall win a prize, and sing -and play before all the company? How I should enjoy making the -girls envy me!" - -A broad lawn, overshadowed at one end by fine old trees--flower -beds and shrubberies, and winding paths prettily and invitingly -laid out--made the garden a welcome refuge on that fine summer -morning. The novelty of the scene, after her experience in the -West Indies, the delicious breezes cooled by the rain of the -night, exerted their cheering influence even on the sullen -disposition of Francine. She smiled, in spite of herself, as she -followed the pleasant paths, and heard the birds singing their -summer songs over her head. - -Wandering among the trees, which occupied a considerable extent -of ground, she passed into an open space beyond, and discovered -an old fish-pond, overgrown by aquatic plants. Driblets of water -trickled from a dilapidated fountain in the middle. On the -further side of the pond the ground sloped downward toward the -south, and revealed, over a low paling, a pretty view of a -village and its church, backed by fir woods mounting the heathy -sides of a range of hills beyond. A fanciful little wooden -building, imitating the form of a Swiss cottage, was placed so as -to command the prospect. Near it, in the shadow of the building, -stood a rustic chair and table--with a color-box on one, and a -portfolio on the other. Fluttering over the grass, at the mercy -of the capricious breeze, was a neglected sheet of drawing-paper. -Francine ran round the pond, and picked up the paper just as it -was on the point of being tilted into the water. It contained a -sketch in water colors of the village and the woods, and Francine -had looked at the view itself with indifference--the picture of -the view interested her. Ordinary visitors to Galleries of Art, -which admit students, show the same strange perversity. The work -of the copyist commands their whole attention; they take no -interest in the original picture. - -Looking up from the sketch, Francine was startled. She discovered -a man, at the window of the Swiss summer-house, watching her. - -"When you have done with that drawing," he said quietly, "please -let me have it back again." - -He was tall and thin and dark. His finely-shaped intelligent -face--hidden, as to the lower part of it, by a curly black -beard--would have been absolutely handsome, even in the eyes of a -schoolgirl, but for the deep furrows that marked it prematurely -between the eyebrows, and at the sides of the mouth. In the same -way, an underlying mockery impaired the attraction of his -otherwise refined and gentle manner. Among his fellow-creatures, -children and dogs were the only critics who appreciated his -merits without discovering the defects which lessened the -favorable appreciation of him by men and women. He dressed -neatly, but his morning coat was badly made, and his picturesque -felt hat was too old. In short, there seemed to be no good -quality about him which was not perversely associated with a -drawback of some kind. He was one of those harmless and luckless -men, possessed of excellent qualities, who fail nevertheless to -achieve popularity in their social sphere. - -Francine handed his sketch to him, through the window; doubtful -whether the words that he had addressed to her were spoken in -jest or in earnest. - -"I only presumed to touch your drawing," she said, "because it -was in danger." - -"What danger?" he inquired. - -Francine pointed to the pond. "If I had not been in time to pick -it up, it would have been blown into the water." - -"Do you think it was worth picking up?" - -Putting that question, he looked first at the sketch--then at the -view which it represented--then back again at the sketch. The -corners of his mouth turned upward with a humorous expression of -scorn. "Madam Nature," he said, "I beg your pardon." With those -words, he composedly tore his work of art into small pieces, and -scattered them out of the window. - -"What a pity!" said Francine. - -He joined her on the ground outside the cottage. "Why is it a -pity?" he asked. - -"Such a nice drawing." - -"It isn't a nice drawing." - -"You're not very polite, sir." - -He looked at her--and sighed as if he pitied so young a woman for -having a temper so ready to take offense. In his flattest -contradictions he always preserved the character of a -politely-positive man. - -"Put it in plain words, miss," he replied. "I have offended the -predominant sense in your nature--your sense of self-esteem. You -don't like to be told, even indirectly, that you know nothing of -Art. In these days, everybody knows everything--and thinks -nothing worth knowing after all. But beware how you presume on an -appearance of indifference, which is nothing but conceit in -disguise. The ruling passion of civilized humanity is, Conceit. -You may try the regard of your dearest friend in any other way, -and be forgiven. Ruffle the smooth surface of your friend's -self-esteem--and there will be an acknowledged coolness between -you which will last for life. Excuse me for giving you the -benefit of my trumpery experience. This sort of smart talk is -_my_ form of conceit. Can I be of use to you in some better way? -Are you looking for one of our young ladies?" - -Francine began to feel a certain reluctant interest in him when -he spoke of "our young ladies." She asked if he belonged to the -school. - -The corners of his mouth turned up again. "I'm one of the -masters," he said. "Are _you_ going to belong to the school, -too?" - -Francine bent her head, with a gravity and condescension intended -to keep him at his proper distance. Far from being discouraged, -he permitted his curiosity to t ake additional liberties. "Are -you to have the misfortune of being one of my pupils?" he asked. - -"I don't know who you are." - -"You won't be much wiser when you do know. My name is Alban -Morris." - -Francine corrected herself. "I mean, I don't know what you -teach." - -Alban Morris pointed to the fragments of his sketch from Nature. -"I am a bad artist," he said. "Some bad artists become Royal -Academicians. Some take to drink. Some get a pension. And some--I -am one of them--find refuge in schools. Drawing is an 'Extra' at -this school. Will you take my advice? Spare your good father's -pocket; say you don't want to learn to draw." - -He was so gravely in earnest that Francine burst out laughing. -"You are a strange man," she said. - -"Wrong again, miss. I am only an unhappy man." - -The furrows in his face deepened, the latent humor died out of -his eyes. He turned to the summer-house window, and took up a -pipe and tobacco pouch, left on the ledge. - -"I lost my only friend last year," he said. "Since the death of -my dog, my pipe is the one companion I have left. Naturally I am -not allowed to enjoy the honest fellow's society in the presence -of ladies. They have their own taste in perfumes. Their clothes -and their letters reek with the foetid secretion of the musk -deer. The clean vegetable smell of tobacco is unendurable to -them. Allow me to retire--and let me thank you for the trouble -you took to save my drawing." - -The tone of indifference in which he expressed his gratitude -piqued Francine. She resented it by drawing her own conclusion -from what he had said of the ladies and the musk deer. "I was -wrong in admiring your drawing," she remarked; "and wrong again -in thinking you a strange man. Am I wrong, for the third time, in -believing that you dislike women?" - -"I am sorry to say you are right," Alban Morris answered gravely. - -"Is there not even one exception?" - -The instant the words passed her lips, she saw that there was -some secretly sensitive feeling in him which she had hurt. His -black brows gathered into a frown, his piercing eyes looked at -her with angry surprise. It was over in a moment. He raised his -shabby hat, and made her a bow. - -"There is a sore place still left in me," he said; "and you have -innocently hit it. Good-morning." - -Before she could speak again, he had turned the corner of the -summer-house, and was lost to view in a shrubbery on the westward -side of the grounds. - - -CHAPTER V. - -DISCOVERIES IN THE GARDEN. - -Left by herself, Miss de Sor turned back again by way of the -trees. - -So far, her interview with the drawing-master had helped to pass -the time. Some girls might have found it no easy task to arrive -at a true view of the character of Alban Morris. Francine's -essentially superficial observation set him down as "a little -mad," and left him there, judged and dismissed to her own entire -satisfaction. - -Arriving at the lawn, she discovered Emily pacing backward and -forward, with her head down and her hands behind her, deep in -thought. Francine's high opinion of herself would have carried -her past any of the other girls, unless they had made special -advances to her. She stopped and looked at Emily. - -It is the sad fate of little women in general to grow too fat and -to be born with short legs. Emily's slim finely-strung figure -spoke for itself as to the first of these misfortunes, and -asserted its happy freedom from the second, if she only walked -across a room. Nature had built her, from head to foot, on a -skeleton-scaffolding in perfect proportion. Tall or short matters -little to the result, in women who possess the first and foremost -advantage of beginning well in their bones. When they live to old -age, they often astonish thoughtless men, who walk behind them in -the street. "I give you my honor, she was as easy and upright as -a young girl; and when you got in front of her and looked--white -hair, and seventy years of age." - -Francine approached Emily, moved by a rare impulse in her -nature--the impulse to be sociable. "You look out of spirits," -she began. "Surely you don't regret leaving school?" - -In her present mood, Emily took the opportunity (in the popular -phrase) of snubbing Francine. "You have guessed wrong; I do -regret," she answered. "I have found in Cecilia my dearest friend -at school. And school brought with it the change in my life which -has helped me to bear the loss of my father. If you must know -what I was thinking of just now, I was thinking or my aunt. She -has not answered my last letter--and I'm beginning to be afraid -she is ill." - -"I'm very sorry," said Francine. - -"Why? You don't know my aunt; and you have only known me since -yesterday afternoon. Why are you sorry?" - -Francine remained silent. Without realizing it, she was beginning -to feel the dominant influence that Emily exercised over the -weaker natures that came in contact with her. To find herself -irresistibly attracted by a stranger at a new school--an -unfortunate little creature, whose destiny was to earn her own -living--filled the narrow mind of Miss de Sor with perplexity. -Having waited in vain for a reply, Emily turned away, and resumed -the train of thought which her schoolfellow had interrupted. - - - -By an association of ideas, of which she was not herself aware, -she now passed from thinking of her aunt to thinking of Miss -Jethro. The interview of the previous night had dwelt on her mind -at intervals, in the hours of the new day. - -Acting on instinct rather than on reason, she had kept that -remarkable incident in her school life a secret from every one. -No discoveries had been made by other persons. In speaking to her -staff of teachers, Miss Ladd had alluded to the affair in the -most cautious terms. "Circumstances of a private nature have -obliged the lady to retire from my school. When we meet after the -holidays, another teacher will be in her place." There, Miss -Ladd's explanation had begun and ended. Inquiries addressed to -the servants had led to no result. Miss Jethro's luggage was to -be forwarded to the London terminus of the railway--and Miss -Jethro herself had baffled investigation by leaving the school on -foot. Emily's interest in the lost teacher was not the transitory -interest of curiosity; her father's mysterious friend was a -person whom she honestly desired to see again. Perplexed by the -difficulty of finding a means of tracing Miss Jethro, she reached -the shady limit of the trees, and turned to walk back again. -Approaching the place at which she and Francine had met, an idea -occurred to her. It was just possible that Miss Jethro might not -be unknown to her aunt. - -Still meditating on the cold reception that she had encountered, -and still feeling the influence which mastered her in spite of -herself, Francine interpreted Emily's return as an implied -expression of regret. She advanced with a constrained smile, and -spoke first. - -"How are the young ladies getting on in the schoolroom?" she -asked, by way of renewing the conversation. - -Emily's face assumed a look of surprise which said plainly, Can't -you take a hint and leave me to myself? - -Francine was constitutionally impenetrable to reproof of this -sort; her thick skin was not even tickled. "Why are you not -helping them," she went on; "you who have the clearest head among -us and take the lead in everything?" - -It may be a humiliating confession to make, yet it is surely true -that we are all accessible to flattery. Different tastes -appreciate different methods of burning incense--but the perfume -is more or less agreeable to all varieties of noses. Francine's -method had its tranquilizing effect on Emily. She answered -indulgently, "Miss de Sor, I have nothing to do with it." - -"Nothing to do with it? No prizes to win before you leave -school?" - -"I won all the prizes years ago." - -"But there are recitations. Surely you recite?" - -Harmless words in themselves, pursuing the same smooth course of -flattery as before--but with what a different result! Emily's -face reddened with anger the moment they were spoken. Having -already irritated Alban Morris, unlucky Francine, by a second -mischievous interposition of accident, had succeeded in making -Emily smart next. "Who has told you," she burst out; "I insist on -knowing!" - -"Nobod y has told me anything!" Francine declared piteously. - -"Nobody has told you how I have been insulted?" - -"No, indeed! Oh, Miss Brown, who could insult _you?_" - -In a man, the sense of injury does sometimes submit to the -discipline of silence. In a woman--never. Suddenly reminded of -her past wrongs (by the pardonable error of a polite -schoolfellow), Emily committed the startling inconsistency of -appealing to the sympathies of Francine! - -"Would you believe it? I have been forbidden to recite--I, the -head girl of the school. Oh, not to-day! It happened a month -ago--when we were all in consultation, making our arrangements. -Miss Ladd asked me if I had decided on a piece to recite. I said, -'I have not only decided, I have learned the piece.' 'And what -may it be?' 'The dagger-scene in Macbeth.' There was a howl--I -can call it by no other name--a howl of indignation. A man's -soliloquy, and, worse still, a murdering man's soliloquy, recited -by one of Miss Ladd's young ladies, before an audience of parents -and guardians! That was the tone they took with me. I was as firm -as a rock. The dagger-scene or nothing. The result is--nothing! -An insult to Shakespeare, and an insult to Me. I felt it--I feel -it still. I was prepared for any sacrifice in the cause of the -drama. If Miss Ladd had met me in a proper spirit, do you know -what I would have done? I would have played Macbeth in costume. -Just hear me, and judge for yourself. I begin with a dreadful -vacancy in my eyes, and a hollow moaning in my voice: 'Is this a -dagger that I see before me--?'" - -Reciting with her face toward the trees, Emily started, dropped -the character of Macbeth, and instantly became herself again: -herself, with a rising color and an angry brightening of the -eyes. "Excuse me, I can't trust my memory: I must get the play." -With that abrupt apology, she walked away rapidly in the -direction of the house. - -In some surprise, Francine turned, and looked at the trees. She -discovered--in full retreat, on his side--the eccentric -drawing-master, Alban Morris. - -Did he, too, admire the dagger-scene? And was he modestly -desirous of hearing it recited, without showing himself? In that -case, why should Emily (whose besetting weakness was certainly -not want of confidence in her own resources) leave the garden the -moment she caught sight of him? Francine consulted her instincts. -She had just arrived at a conclusion which expressed itself -outwardly by a malicious smile, when gentle Cecilia appeared on -the lawn--a lovable object in a broad straw hat and a white -dress, with a nosegay in her bosom--smiling, and fanning herself. - -"It's so hot in the schoolroom," she said, "and some of the -girls, poor things, are so ill-tempered at rehearsal--I have made -my escape. I hope you got your breakfast, Miss de Sor. What have -you been doing here, all by yourself?" - -"I have been making an interesting discovery," Francine replied. - -"An interesting discovery in our garden? What _can_ it be?" - -"The drawing-master, my dear, is in love with Emily. Perhaps she -doesn't care about him. Or, perhaps, I have been an innocent -obstacle in the way of an appointment between them." - -Cecilia had breakfasted to her heart's content on her favorite -dish--buttered eggs. She was in such good spirits that she was -inclined to be coquettish, even when there was no man present to -fascinate. "We are not allowed to talk about love in this -school," she said--and hid her face behind her fan. "Besides, if -it came to Miss Ladd's ears, poor Mr. Morris might lose his -situation." - -"But isn't it true?" asked Francine. - -"It may be true, my dear; but nobody knows. Emily hasn't breathed -a word about it to any of us. And Mr. Morris keeps his own -secret. Now and then we catch him looking at her--and we draw our -own conclusions." - -"Did you meet Emily on your way here?" - -"Yes, and she passed without speaking to me." - -"Thinking perhaps of Mr. Morris." - -Cecilia shook her head. "Thinking, Francine, of the new life -before her--and regretting, I am afraid, that she ever confided -her hopes and wishes to me. Did she tell you last night what her -prospects are when she leaves school?" - -"She told me you had been very kind in helping her. I daresay I -should have heard more, if I had not fallen asleep. What is she -going to do?" - -"To live in a dull house, far away in the north," Cecilia -answered; "with only old people in it. She will have to write and -translate for a great scholar, who is studying mysterious -inscriptions--hieroglyphics, I think they are called--found among -the ruins of Central America. It's really no laughing matter, -Francine! Emily made a joke of it, too. 'I'll take anything but a -situation as a governess,' she said; 'the children who have Me to -teach them would be to be pitied indeed!' She begged and prayed -me to help her to get an honest living. What could I do? I could -only write home to papa. He is a member of Parliament: and -everybody who wants a place seems to think he is bound to find it -for them. As it happened, he had heard from an old friend of his -(a certain Sir Jervis Redwood), who was in search of a secretary. -Being in favor of letting the women compete for employment with -the men, Sir Jervis was willing to try, what he calls, 'a -female.' Isn't that a horrid way of speaking of us? and Miss Ladd -says it's ungrammatical, besides. Papa had written back to say he -knew of no lady whom he could recommend. When he got my letter -speaking of Emily, he kindly wrote again. In the interval, Sir -Jervis had received two applications for the vacant place. They -were both from old ladies--and he declined to employ them." - -"Because they were old," Francine suggested maliciously. - -"You shall hear him give his own reasons, my dear. Papa sent me -an extract from his letter. It made me rather angry; and (perhaps -for that reason) I think I can repeat it word for word:--'We are -four old people in this house, and we don't want a fifth. Let us -have a young one to cheer us. If your daughter's friend likes the -terms, and is not encumbered with a sweetheart, I will send for -her when the school breaks up at midsummer.' Coarse and -selfish--isn't it? However, Emily didn't agree with me, when I -showed her the extract. She accepted the place, very much to her -aunt's surprise and regret, when that excellent person heard of -it. Now that the time has come (though Emily won't acknowledge -it), I believe she secretly shrinks, poor dear, from the -prospect." - -"Very likely," Francine agreed--without even a pretense of -sympathy. "But tell me, who are the four old people?" - -"First, Sir Jervis himself--seventy, last birthday. Next, his -unmarried sister--nearly eighty. Next, his man-servant, Mr. -Rook--well past sixty. And last, his man-servant's wife, who -considers herself young, being only a little over forty. That is -the household. Mrs. Rook is coming to-day to attend Emily on the -journey to the North; and I am not at all sure that Emily will -like her." - -"A disagreeable woman, I suppose?" - -"No--not exactly that. Rather odd and flighty. The fact is, Mrs. -Rook has had her troubles; and perhaps they have a little -unsettled her. She and her husband used to keep the village inn, -close to our park: we know all about them at home. I am sure I -pity these poor people. What are you looking at, Francine?" - -Feeling no sort of interest in Mr. and Mrs. Rook, Francine was -studying her schoolfellow's lovely face in search of defects. She -had already discovered that Cecilia's eyes were placed too widely -apart, and that her chin wanted size and character. - -"I was admiring your complexion, dear," she answered coolly. -"Well, and why do you pity the Rooks?" - -Simple Cecilia smiled, and went on with her story. - -"They are obliged to go out to service in their old age, through -a misfortune for which they are in no way to blame. Their -customers deserted the inn, and Mr. Rook became bankrupt. The inn -got what they call a bad name--in a very dreadful way. There was -a murder committed in the house." - -"A murder?" cried Francine. "Oh, this is exciting! You provoking -girl, why didn't you tell me about it before?" - -"I didn't think of it," said Cecilia placidly. - -"Do go on! Were you at home when it happened?" - -"I w as here, at school." - -"You saw the newspapers, I suppose?" - -"Miss Ladd doesn't allow us to read newspapers. I did hear of it, -however, in letters from home. Not that there was much in the -letters. They said it was too horrible to be described. The poor -murdered gentleman--" - -Francine was unaffectedly shocked. "A gentleman!" she exclaimed. -"How dreadful!" - -"The poor man was a stranger in our part of the country," Cecilia -resumed; "and the police were puzzled about the motive for a -murder. His pocketbook was missing; but his watch and his rings -were found on the body. I remember the initials on his linen -because they were the same as my mother's initial before she was -married--'J. B.' Really, Francine, that's all I know about it." - -"Surely you know whether the murderer was discovered?" - -"Oh, yes--of course I know that! The government offered a reward; -and clever people were sent from London to help the county -police. Nothing came of it. The murderer has never been -discovered, from that time to this." - -"When did it happen?" - -"It happened in the autumn." - -"The autumn of last year?" - -"No! no! Nearly four years since." - - -CHAPTER VI. - -ON THE WAY TO THE VILLAGE. - -Alban Morris--discovered by Emily in concealment among the -trees--was not content with retiring to another part of the -grounds. He pursued his retreat, careless in what direction it -might take him, to a footpath across the fields, which led to the -highroad and the railway station. - -Miss Ladd's drawing-master was in that state of nervous -irritability which seeks relief in rapidity of motion. Public -opinion in the neighborhood (especially public opinion among the -women) had long since decided that his manners were offensive, -and his temper incurably bad. The men who happened to pass him on -the footpath said "Good-morning" grudgingly. The women took no -notice of him--with one exception. She was young and saucy, and -seeing him walking at the top of his speed on the way to the -railway station, she called after him, "Don't be in a hurry, sir! -You're in plenty of time for the London train." - -To her astonishment he suddenly stopped. His reputation for -rudeness was so well established that she moved away to a safe -distance, before she ventured to look at him again. He took no -notice of her--he seemed to be considering with himself. The -frolicsome young woman had done him a service: she had suggested -an idea. - -"Suppose I go to London?" he thought. "Why not?--the school is -breaking up for the holidays--and _she_ is going away like the -rest of them." He looked round in the direction of the -schoolhouse. "If I go back to wish her good-by, she will keep out -of my way, and part with me at the last moment like a stranger. -After my experience of women, to be in love again--in love with a -girl who is young enough to be my daughter--what a fool, what a -driveling, degraded fool I must be!" - -Hot tears rose in his eyes. He dashed them away savagely, and -went on again faster than ever--resolved to pack up at once at -his lodgings in the village, and to take his departure by the -next train. - -At the point where the footpath led into the road, he came to a -standstill for the second time. - -The cause was once more a person of the sex associated in his -mind with a bitter sense of injury. On this occasion the person -was only a miserable little child, crying over the fragments of a -broken jug. - -Alban Morris looked at her with his grimly humorous smile. "So -you've broken a jug?" he remarked. - -"And spilt father's beer," the child answered. Her frail little -body shook with terror. "Mother'll beat me when I go home," she -said. - -"What does mother do when you bring the jug back safe and sound?" -Alban asked. - -"Gives me bren-butter." - -"Very well. Now listen to me. Mother shall give you bread and -butter again this time." - -The child stared at him with the tears suspended in her eyes. He -went on talking to her as seriously as ever. - -"You understand what I have just said to you?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Have you got a pocket-handkerchief?" - -"No, sir." - -"Then dry your eyes with mine." - -He tossed his handkerchief to her with one hand, and picked up a -fragment of the broken jug with the other. "This will do for a -pattern," he said to himself. The child stared at the -handkerchief--stared at Alban--took courage--and rubbed -vigorously at her eyes. The instinct, which is worth all the -reason that ever pretended to enlighten mankind--the instinct -that never deceives--told this little ignorant creature that she -had found a friend. She returned the handkerchief in grave -silence. Alban took her up in his arms. - -"Your eyes are dry, and your face is fit to be seen," he said. -"Will you give me a kiss?" The child gave him a resolute kiss, -with a smack in it. "Now come and get another jug," he said, as -he put her down. Her red round eyes opened wide in alarm. "Have -you got money enough?" she asked. Alban slapped his pocket. "Yes, -I have," he answered. "That's a good thing," said the child; -"come along." - -They went together hand in hand to the village, and bought the -new jug, and had it filled at the beer-shop. The thirsty father -was at the upper end of the fields, where they were making a -drain. Alban carried the jug until they were within sight of the -laborer. "You haven't far to go," he said. "Mind you don't drop -it again--What's the matter now?" - -"I'm frightened." - -"Why?" - -"Oh, give me the jug." - -She almost snatched it out of his hand. If she let the precious -minutes slip away, there might be another beating in store for -her at the drain: her father was not of an indulgent disposition -when his children were late in bringing his beer. On the point of -hurrying away, without a word of farewell, she remembered the -laws of politeness as taught at the infant school--and dropped -her little curtsey--and said, "Thank you, sir." That bitter sense -of injury was still in Alban's mind as he looked after her. "What -a pity she should grow up to be a woman!" he said to himself. - -The adventure of the broken jug had delayed his return to his -lodgings by more than half an hour. When he reached the road once -more, the cheap up-train from the North had stopped at the -station. He heard the ringing of the bell as it resumed the -journey to London. - -One of the passengers (judging by the handbag that she carried) -had not stopped at the village. - -As she advanced toward him along the road, he remarked that she -was a small wiry active woman--dressed in bright colors, combined -with a deplorable want of taste. Her aquiline nose seemed to be -her most striking feature as she came nearer. It might have been -fairly proportioned to the rest of her face, in her younger days, -before her cheeks had lost flesh and roundness. Being probably -near-sighted, she kept her eyes half-closed; there were cunning -little wrinkles at the corners of them. In spite of appearances, -she was unwilling to present any outward acknowledgment of the -march of time. Her hair was palpably dyed--her hat was jauntily -set on her head, and ornamented with a gay feather. She walked -with a light tripping step, swinging her bag, and holding her -head up smartly. Her manner, like her dress, said as plainly as -words could speak, "No matter how long I may have lived, I mean -to be young and charming to the end of my days." To Alban's -surprise she stopped and addressed him. - -"Oh, I beg your pardon. Could you tell me if I am in the right -road to Miss Ladd's school?" - -She spoke with nervous rapidity of articulation, and with a -singularly unpleasant smile. It parted her thin lips just widely -enough to show her suspiciously beautiful teeth; and it opened -her keen gray eyes in the strangest manner. The higher lid rose -so as to disclose, for a moment, the upper part of the eyeball, -and to give her the appearance--not of a woman bent on making -herself agreeable, but of a woman staring in a panic of terror. -Careless to conceal the unfavorable impression that she had -produced on him, Alban answered roughly, "Straight on," and tried -to pass her. - -She stopped him with a peremptory gesture. "I have treated you -politely," she said, "and how do you treat me in return? Well! I -am not surprised. Men are all brutes by nature--and you are a -man. - 'Straight on'?" she repeated contemptuously; "I should like to -know how far that helps a person in a strange place. Perhaps you -know no more where Miss Ladd's school is than I do? or, perhaps, -you don't care to take the trouble of addressing me? Just what I -should have expected from a person of your sex! Good-morning." - -Alban felt the reproof; she had appealed to his most -readily-impressible sense--his sense of humor. He rather enjoyed -seeing his own prejudice against women grotesquely reflected in -this flighty stranger's prejudice against men. As the best excuse -for himself that he could make, he gave her all the information -that she could possibly want--then tried again to pass on--and -again in vain. He had recovered his place in her estimation: she -had not done with him yet. - -"You know all about the way there," she said "I wonder whether -you know anything about the school?" - -No change in her voice, no change in her manner, betrayed any -special motive for putting this question. Alban was on the point -of suggesting that she should go on to the school, and make her -inquiries there--when he happened to notice her eyes. She had -hitherto looked him straight in the face. She now looked down on -the road. It was a trifling change; in all probability it meant -nothing--and yet, merely because it was a change, it roused his -curiosity. "I ought to know something about the school," he -answered. "I am one of the masters." - -"Then you're just the man I want. May I ask your name?" - -"Alban Morris." - -"Thank you. I am Mrs. Rook. I presume you have heard of Sir -Jervis Redwood?" - -"No." - -"Bless my soul! You are a scholar, of course--and you have never -heard of one of your own trade. Very extraordinary. You see, I am -Sir Jervis's housekeeper; and I am sent here to take one of your -young ladies back with me to our place. Don't interrupt me! Don't -be a brute again! Sir Jervis is not of a communicative -disposition. At least, not to me. A man--that explains it--a man! -He is always poring over his books and writings; and Miss -Redwood, at her great age, is in bed half the day. Not a thing do -I know about this new inmate of ours, except that I am to take -her back with me. You would feel some curiosity yourself in my -place, wouldn't you? Now do tell me. What sort of girl is Miss -Emily Brown?" - -The name that he was perpetually thinking of--on this woman's -lips! Alban looked at her. - -"Well," said Mrs. Rook, "am I to have no answer? Ah, you want -leading. So like a man again! Is she pretty?" - -Still examining the housekeeper with mingled feelings of interest -and distrust, Alban answered ungraciously: - -"Yes." - -"Good-tempered?" - -Alban again said "Yes." - -"So much about herself," Mrs. Rook remarked. "About her family -now?" She shifted her bag restlessly from one hand to another. -"Perhaps you can tell me if Miss Emily's father--" she suddenly -corrected herself--"if Miss Emily's parents are living?" - -"I don't know." - -"You mean you won't tell me." - -"I mean exactly what I have said." - -"Oh, it doesn't matter," Mrs. Rook rejoined; "I shall find out at -the school. The first turning to the left, I think you -said--across the fields?" - -He was too deeply interested in Emily to let the housekeeper go -without putting a question on his side: - -"Is Sir Jervis Redwood one of Miss Emily's old friends?" he -asked. - -"He? What put that into your head? He has never even seen Miss -Emily. She's going to our house--ah, the women are getting the -upper hand now, and serve the men right, I say!--she's going to -our house to be Sir Jervis's secretary. You would like to have -the place yourself, wouldn't you? You would like to keep a poor -girl from getting her own living? Oh, you may look as fierce as -you please--the time's gone by when a man could frighten _me_. I -like her Christian name. I call Emily a nice name enough. But -'Brown'! Good-morning, Mr. Morris; you and I are not cursed with -such a contemptibly common name as that! 'Brown'? Oh, Lord!" - -She tossed her head scornfully, and walked away, humming a tune. - -Alban stood rooted to the spot. The effort of his later life had -been to conceal the hopeless passion which had mastered him in -spite of himself. Knowing nothing from Emily--who at once pitied -and avoided him--of her family circumstances or of her future -plans, he had shrunk from making inquiries of others, in the fear -that they, too, might find out his secret, and that their -contempt might be added to the contempt which he felt for -himself. In this position, and with these obstacles in his way, -the announcement of Emily's proposed journey--under the care of a -stranger, to fill an employment in the house of a stranger--not -only took him by surprise, but inspired him with a strong feeling -of distrust. He looked after Sir Jervis Redwood's flighty -housekeeper, completely forgetting the purpose which had brought -him thus far on the way to his lodgings. Before Mrs. Rook was out -of sight, Alban Morris was following her back to the school. - - -CHAPTER VII. - -"COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS BEFORE." - -Miss De Sor and Miss Wyvil were still sitting together under the -trees, talking of the murder at the inn. - -"And is that really all you can tell me?" said Francine. - -"That is all," Cecilia answered. - -"Is there no love in it?" - -"None that I know of." - -"It's the most uninteresting murder that ever was committed. What -shall we do with ourselves? I'm tired of being here in the -garden. When do the performances in the schoolroom begin?" - -"Not for two hours yet." - -Francine yawned. "And what part do you take in it?" she asked. - -"No part, my dear. I tried once--only to sing a simple little -song. When I found myself standing before all the company and saw -rows of ladies and gentlemen waiting for me to begin, I was so -frightened that Miss Ladd had to make an apology for me. I didn't -get over it for the rest of the day. For the first time in my -life, I had no appetite for my dinner. Horrible!" said Cecilia, -shuddering over the remembrance of it. "I do assure you, I -thought I was going to die." - -Perfectly unimpressed by this harrowing narrative, Francine -turned her head lazily toward the house. The door was thrown open -at the same moment. A lithe little person rapidly descended the -steps that led to the lawn. - -"It's Emily come back again," said Francine. - -"And she seems to be rather in a hurry," Cecilia remarked. - -Francine's satirical smile showed itself for a moment. Did this -appearance of hurry in Emily's movements denote impatience to -resume the recital of "the dagger-scene"? She had no book in her -hand; she never even looked toward Francine. Sorrow became -plainly visible in her face as she approached the two girls. - -Cecilia rose in alarm. She had been the first person to whom -Emily had confided her domestic anxieties. "Bad news from your -aunt?" she asked. - -"No, my dear; no news at all." Emily put her arms tenderly round -her friend's neck. "The time has come, Cecilia," she said. "We -must wish each other good-by." - -"Is Mrs. Rook here already?" - -"It's _you_, dear, who are going," Emily answered sadly. "They -have sent the governess to fetch you. Miss Ladd is too busy in -the schoolroom to see her--and she has told me all about it. -Don't be alarmed. There is no bad news from home. Your plans are -altered; that's all." - -"Altered?" Cecilia repeated. "In what way?" - -"In a very agreeable way--you are going to travel. Your father -wishes you to be in London, in time for the evening mail to -France." - -Cecilia guessed what had happened. "My sister is not getting -well," she said, "and the doctors are sending her to the -Continent." - -"To the baths at St. Moritz," Emily added. "There is only one -difficulty in the way; and you can remove it. Your sister has the -good old governess to take care of her, and the courier to -relieve her of all trouble on the journey. They were to have -started yesterday. You know how fond Julia is of you. At the last -moment, she won't hear of going away, unless you go too. The -rooms are waiting at St. Moritz; and your father is annoyed (the -governess says) by the delay that has taken place already." - -She paused. Cecilia was silent. "Surely you don't hesitate?" -Emily said. - -"I am too happy to go wherever Julia go es," Cecilia answered -warmly; "I was thinking of you, dear." Her tender nature, -shrinking from the hard necessities of life, shrank from the -cruelly-close prospect of parting. "I thought we were to have had -some hours together yet," she said. "Why are we hurried in this -way? There is no second train to London, from our station, till -late in the afternoon." - -"There is the express," Emily reminded her; "and there is time to -catch it, if you drive at once to the town." She took Cecilia's -hand and pressed it to her bosom. "Thank you again and again, -dear, for all you have done for me. Whether we meet again or not, -as long as I live I shall love you. Don't cry!" She made a faint -attempt to resume her customary gayety, for Cecilia's sake. "Try -to be as hard-hearted as I am. Think of your sister--don't think -of me. Only kiss me." - -Cecilia's tears fell fast. "Oh, my love, I am so anxious about -you! I am so afraid that you will not be happy with that selfish -old man--in that dreary house. Give it up, Emily! I have got -plenty of money for both of us; come abroad with me. Why not? You -always got on well with Julia, when you came to see us in the -holidays. Oh, my darling! my darling! What shall I do without -you?" - -All that longed for love in Emily's nature had clung round her -school-friend since her father's death. Turning deadly pale under -the struggle to control herself, she made the effort--and bore -the pain of it without letting a cry or a tear escape her. "Our -ways in life lie far apart," she said gently. "There is the hope -of meeting again, dear--if there is nothing more." - -The clasp of Cecilia's arm tightened round her. She tried to -release herself; but her resolution had reached its limits. Her -hands dropped, trembling. She could still try to speak -cheerfully, and that was all. - -"There is not the least reason, Cecilia, to be anxious about my -prospects. I mean to be Sir Jervis Redwood's favorite before I -have been a week in his service." - -She stopped, and pointed to the house. The governess was -approaching them. "One more kiss, darling. We shall not forget -the happy hours we have spent together; we shall constantly write -to each other." She broke down at last. "Oh, Cecilia! Cecilia! -leave me for God's sake--I can't bear it any longer!" - -The governess parted them. Emily dropped into the chair that her -friend had left. Even her hopeful nature sank under the burden of -life at that moment. - -A hard voice, speaking close at her side, startled her. - -"Would you rather be Me," the voice asked, "without a creature to -care for you?" - -Emily raised her head. Francine, the unnoticed witness of the -parting interview, was standing by her, idly picking the leaves -from a rose which had dropped out of Cecilia's nosegay. - -Had she felt her own isolated position? She had felt it -resentfully. - -Emily looked at her, with a heart softened by sorrow. There was -no answering kindness in the eyes of Miss de Sor--there was only -a dogged endurance, sad to see in a creature so young. - -"You and Cecilia are going to write to each other," she said. "I -suppose there is some comfort in that. When I left the island -they were glad to get rid of me. They said, 'Telegraph when you -are safe at Miss Ladd's school.' You see, we are so rich, the -expense of telegraphing to the West Indies is nothing to us. -Besides, a telegram has an advantage over a letter--it doesn't -take long to read. I daresay I shall write home. But they are in -no hurry; and I am in no hurry. The school's breaking up; you are -going your way, and I am going mine--and who cares what becomes -of me? Only an ugly old schoolmistress, who is paid for caring. I -wonder why I am saying all this? Because I like you? I don't know -that I like you any better than you like me. When I wanted to be -friends with you, you treated me coolly; I don't want to force -myself on you. I don't particularly care about you. May I write -to you from Brighton?" - -Under all this bitterness--the first exhibition of Francine's -temper, at its worst, which had taken place since she joined the -school--Emily saw, or thought she saw, distress that was too -proud, or too shy, to show itself. "How can you ask the -question?" she answered cordially. - -Francine was incapable of meeting the sympathy offered to her, -even half way. "Never mind how," she said. "Yes or no is all I -want from you." - -"Oh, Francine! Francine! what are you made of! Flesh and blood? -or stone and iron? Write to me of course--and I will write back -again." - -"Thank you. Are you going to stay here under the trees?" - -"Yes." - -"All by yourself?" - -"All by myself." - -"With nothing to do?" - -"I can think of Cecilia." - -Francine eyed her with steady attention for a moment. - -"Didn't you tell me last night that you were very poor?" she -asked. - -"I did." - -"So poor that you are obliged to earn your own living?" - -"Yes." - -Francine looked at her again. - -"I daresay you won't believe me," she said. "I wish I was you." - -She turned away irritably, and walked back to the house. - -Were there really longings for kindness and love under the -surface of this girl's perverse nature? Or was there nothing to -be hoped from a better knowledge of her?--In place of tender -remembrances of Cecilia, these were the perplexing and unwelcome -thoughts which the more potent personality of Francine forced -upon Emily's mind. - -She rose impatiently, and looked at her watch. When would it be -her turn to leave the school, and begin the new life? - -Still undecided what to do next, her interest was excited by the -appearance of one of the servants on the lawn. The woman -approached her, and presented a visiting-card; bearing on it the -name of _Sir Jervis Redwood_. Beneath the name, there was a line -written in pencil: "Mrs. Rook, to wait on Miss Emily Brown." The -way to the new life was open before her at last! - -Looking again at the commonplace announcement contained in the -line of writing, she was not quite satisfied. Was it claiming a -deference toward herself, to which she was not entitled, to -expect a letter either from Sir Jervis, or from Miss Redwood; -giving her some information as to the journey which she was about -to undertake, and expressing with some little politeness the wish -to make her comfortable in her future home? At any rate, her -employer had done her one service: he had reminded her that her -station in life was not what it had been in the days when her -father was living, and when her aunt was in affluent -circumstances. - -She looked up from the card. The servant had gone. Alban Morris -was waiting at a little distance--waiting silently until she -noticed him. - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -MASTER AND PUPIL. - -Emily's impulse was to avoid the drawing-master for the second -time. The moment afterward, a kinder feeling prevailed. The -farewell interview with Cecilia had left influences which pleaded -for Alban Morris. It was the day of parting good wishes and -general separations: he had only perhaps come to say good-by. She -advanced to offer her hand, when he stopped her by pointing to -Sir Jervis Redwood's card. - -"May I say a word, Miss Emily, about that woman?" he asked - -"Do you mean Mrs. Rook?" - -"Yes. You know, of course, why she comes here?" - -"She comes here by appointment, to take me to Sir Jervis -Redwood's house. Are you acquainted with her?" - -"She is a perfect stranger to me. I met her by accident on her -way here. If Mrs. Rook had been content with asking me to direct -her to the school, I should not be troubling you at this moment. -But she forced her conversation on me. And she said something -which I think you ought to know. Have you heard of Sir Jervis -Redwood's housekeeper before to-day?" - -"I have only heard what my friend--Miss Cecilia Wyvil--has told -me." - -"Did Miss Cecilia tell you that Mrs. Rook was acquainted with -your father or with any members of your family?" - -"Certainly not!" - -Alban reflected. "It was natural enough," he resumed, "that Mrs. -Rook should feel some curiosity about You. What reason had she -for putting a question to me about your father--and putting it in -a very strange manner?" - -Emily's interest was instantly excited. She led the way back to -the seats in the shade. "Tell me, Mr. Morris, exactly what the -woman said." As she spoke, - she signed to him to be seated. - -Alban observed the natural grace of her action when she set him -the example of taking a chair, and the little heightening of her -color caused by anxiety to hear what he had still to tell her. -Forgetting the restraint that he had hitherto imposed on himself, -he enjoyed the luxury of silently admiring her. Her manner -betrayed none of the conscious confusion which would have shown -itself, if her heart had been secretly inclined toward him. She -saw the man looking at her. In simple perplexity she looked at -the man. - -"Are you hesitating on my account?" she asked. "Did Mrs. Rook say -something of my father which I mustn't hear?" - -"No, no! nothing of the sort!" - -"You seem to be confused." - -Her innocent indifference tried his patience sorely. His memory -went back to the past time--recalled the ill-placed passion of -his youth, and the cruel injury inflicted on him--his pride was -roused. Was he making himself ridiculous? The vehement throbbing -of his heart almost suffocated him. And there she sat, wondering -at his odd behavior. "Even this girl is as cold-blooded as the -rest of her sex!" That angry thought gave him back his -self-control. He made his excuses with the easy politeness of a -man of the world. - -"I beg your pardon, Miss Emily; I was considering how to put what -I have to say in the fewest and plainest words. Let me try if I -can do it. If Mrs. Rook had merely asked me whether your father -and mother were living, I should have attributed the question to -the commonplace curiosity of a gossiping woman, and have thought -no more of it. What she actually did say was this: 'Perhaps you -can tell me if Miss Emily's father--' There she checked herself, -and suddenly altered the question in this way: 'If Miss Emily's -_parents_ are living?' I may be making mountains out of -molehills; but I thought at the time (and think still) that she -had some special interest in inquiring after your father, and, -not wishing me to notice it for reasons of her own, changed the -form of the question so as to include your mother. Does this -strike you as a far-fetched conclusion?" - -"Whatever it may be," Emily said, "it is my conclusion, too. How -did you answer her?" - -"Quite easily. I could give her no information--and I said so." - -"Let me offer you the information, Mr. Morris, before we say -anything more. I have lost both my parents." - -Alban's momentary outbreak of irritability was at an end. He was -earnest and yet gentle, again; he forgave her for not -understanding how dear and how delightful to him she was. "Will -it distress you," he said, "if I ask how long it is since your -father died?" - -"Nearly four years," she replied. "He was the most generous of -men; Mrs. Rook's interest in him may surely have been a grateful -interest. He may have been kind to her in past years--and she may -remember him thankfully. Don't you think so?" - -Alban was unable to agree with her. "If Mrs. Rook's interest in -your father was the harmless interest that you have suggested," -he said, "why should she have checked herself in that -unaccountable manner, when she first asked me if he was living? -The more I think of it now, the less sure I feel that she knows -anything at all of your family history. It may help me to decide, -if you will tell me at what time the death of your mother took -place." - -"So long ago," Emily replied, "that I can't even remember her -death. I was an infant at the time." - -"And yet Mrs. Rook asked me if your 'parents' were living! One of -two things," Alban concluded. "Either there is some mystery in -this matter, which we cannot hope to penetrate at present--or -Mrs. Rook may have been speaking at random; on the chance of -discovering whether you are related to some 'Mr. Brown' whom she -once knew." - -"Besides," Emily added, "it's only fair to remember what a common -family name mine is, and how easily people may make mistakes. I -should like to know if my dear lost father was really in her mind -when she spoke to you. Do you think I could find it out?" - -"If Mrs. Rook has any reasons for concealment, I believe you -would have no chance of finding it out--unless, indeed, you could -take her by surprise." - -"In what way, Mr. Morris?" - -"Only one way occurs to me just now," he said. "Do you happen to -have a miniature or a photograph of your father?" - -Emily held out a handsome locket, with a monogram in diamonds, -attached to her watch chain. "I have his photograph here," she -rejoined; "given to me by my dear old aunt, in the days of her -prosperity. Shall I show it to Mrs. Rook?" - -"Yes--if she happens, by good luck, to offer you an opportunity." - -Impatient to try the experiment, Emily rose as he spoke. "I -mustn't keep Mrs. Rook waiting," she said. - -Alban stopped her, on the point of leaving him. The confusion and -hesitation which she had already noticed began to show themselves -in his manner once more. - -"Miss Emily, may I ask you a favor before you go? I am only one -of the masters employed in the school; but I don't think--let me -say, I hope I am not guilty of presumption--if I offer to be of -some small service to one of my pupils--" - -There his embarrassment mastered him. He despised himself not -only for yielding to his own weakness, but for faltering like a -fool in the expression of a simple request. The next words died -away on his lips. - -This time, Emily understood him. - -The subtle penetration which had long since led her to the -discovery of his secret--overpowered, thus far, by the absorbing -interest of the moment--now recovered its activity. In an -instant, she remembered that Alban's motive for cautioning her, -in her coming intercourse with Mrs. Rook, was not the merely -friendly motive which might have actuated him, in the case of one -of the other girls. At the same time, her quickness of -apprehension warned her not to risk encouraging this persistent -lover, by betraying any embarrassment on her side. He was -evidently anxious to be present (in her interests) at the -interview with Mrs. Rook. Why not? Could he reproach her with -raising false hope, if she accepted his services, under -circumstances of doubt and difficulty which he had himself been -the first to point out? He could do nothing of the sort. Without -waiting until he had recovered himself, she answered him (to all -appearances) as composedly as if he had spoken to her in the -plainest terms. - -"After all that you have told me," she said, "I shall indeed feel -obliged if you will be present when I see Mrs. Rook." - -The eager brightening of his eyes, the flush of happiness that -made him look young on a sudden, were signs not to be mistaken. -The sooner they were in the presence of a third person (Emily -privately concluded) the better it might be for both of them. She -led the way rapidly to the house. - - -CHAPTER IX. - -MRS. ROOK AND THE LOCKET. - -As mistress of a prosperous school, bearing a widely-extended -reputation, Miss Ladd prided herself on the liberality of her -household arrangements. At breakfast and dinner, not only the -solid comforts but the elegant luxuries of the table, were set -before the young ladies "Other schools may, and no doubt do, -offer to pupils the affectionate care to which they have been -accustomed under the parents' roof," Miss Ladd used to say. "At -my school, that care extends to their meals, and provides them -with a _cuisine_ which, I flatter myself, equals the most -successful efforts of the cooks at home." Fathers, mothers, and -friends, when they paid visits to this excellent lady, brought -away with them the most gratifying recollections of her -hospitality. The men, in particular, seldom failed to recognize -in their hostess the rarest virtue that a single lady can -possess--the virtue of putting wine on the table which may be -gratefully remembered by her guests the next morning. - -An agreeable surprise awaited Mrs. Rook when she entered the -house of bountiful Miss Ladd. - -Luncheon was ready for Sir Jervis Redwood's confidential emissary -in the waiting-room. Detained at the final rehearsals of music -and recitation, Miss Ladd was worthily represented by cold -chicken and ham, a fruit tart, and a pint decanter of generous -sherry. "Your mistress is a perfect lady!" Mrs. Rook said to the -servant, wi th a burst of enthusiasm. "I can carve for myself, -thank you; and I don't care how long Miss Emily keeps me -waiting." - -As they ascended the steps leading into the house, Alban asked -Emily if he might look again at her locket. - -"Shall I open it for you?" she suggested. - -No: I only want to look at the outside of it." - -He examined the side on which the monogram appeared, inlaid with -diamonds. An inscription was engraved beneath. - -"May I read it?" he said. - -"Certainly!" - -The inscription ran thus: "In loving memory of my father. Died -30th September, 1877." - -"Can you arrange the locket," Alban asked, "so that the side on -which the diamonds appear hangs outward?" - -She understood him. The diamonds might attract Mrs. Rook's -notice; and in that case, she might ask to see the locket of her -own accord. "You are beginning to be of use to me, already," -Emily said, as they turned into the corridor which led to the -waiting-room. - -They found Sir Jervis's housekeeper luxuriously recumbent in the -easiest chair in the room. - -Of the eatable part of the lunch some relics were yet left. In -the pint decanter of sherry, not a drop remained. The genial -influence of the wine (hastened by the hot weather) was visible -in Mrs. Rook's flushed face, and in a special development of her -ugly smile. Her widening lips stretched to new lengths; and the -white upper line of her eyeballs were more freely and horribly -visible than ever. - -"And this is the dear young lady?" she said, lifting her hands in -over-acted admiration. At the first greetings, Alban perceived -that the impression produced was, in Emily's case as in his case, -instantly unfavorable. - -The servant came in to clear the table. Emily stepped aside for a -minute to give some directions about her luggage. In that -interval Mrs. Rook's cunning little eyes turned on Alban with an -expression of malicious scrutiny. - -"You were walking the other way," she whispered, "when I met -you." She stopped, and glanced over her shoulder at Emily. "I see -what attraction has brought you back to the school. Steal your -way into that poor little fool's heart; and then make her -miserable for the rest of her life!--No need, miss, to hurry," -she said, shifting the polite side of her toward Emily, who -returned at the moment. "The visits of the trains to your station -here are like the visits of the angels described by the poet, -'few and far between.' Please excuse the quotation. You wouldn't -think it to look at me--I'm a great reader." - -"Is it a long journey to Sir Jervis Redwood's house?" Emily -asked, at a loss what else to say to a woman who was already -becoming unendurable to her. - -Mrs. Rook looked at the journey from an oppressively cheerful -point of view. - -"Oh, Miss Emily, you shan't feel the time hang heavy in my -company. I can converse on a variety of topics, and if there is -one thing more than another that I like, it's amusing a pretty -young lady. You think me a strange creature, don't you? It's only -my high spirits. Nothing strange about me--unless it's my queer -Christian name. You look a little dull, my dear. Shall I begin -amusing you before we are on the railway? Shall I tell you how I -came by my queer name?" - -Thus far, Alban had controlled himself. This last specimen of the -housekeeper's audacious familiarity reached the limits of his -endurance. - -"We don't care to know how you came by your name," he said. - -"Rude," Mrs. Rook remarked, composedly. "But nothing surprises -me, coming from a man." - -She turned to Emily. "My father and mother were a wicked married -couple," she continued, "before I was born. They 'got religion,' -as the saying is, at a Methodist meeting in a field. When I came -into the world--I don't know how you feel, miss; I protest -against being brought into the world without asking my leave -first--my mother was determined to dedicate me to piety, before I -was out of my long clothes. What name do you suppose she had me -christened by? She chose it, or made it, herself--the name of -'Righteous'! Righteous Rook! Was there ever a poor baby degraded -by such a ridiculous name before? It's needless to say, when I -write letters, I sign R. Rook--and leave people to think it's -Rosamond, or Rosabelle, or something sweetly pretty of that kind. -You should have seen my husband's face when he first heard that -his sweetheart's name was 'Righteous'! He was on the point of -kissing me, and he stopped. I daresay he felt sick. Perfectly -natural under the circumstances." - -Alban tried to stop her again. "What time does the train go?" he -asked. - -Emily entreated him to restrain himself, by a look. Mrs. Rook was -still too inveterately amiable to take offense. She opened her -traveling-bag briskly, and placed a railway guide in Alban's -hands. - -"I've heard that the women do the men's work in foreign parts," -she said. "But this is England; and I am an Englishwoman. Find -out when the train goes, my dear sir, for yourself." - -Alban at once consulted the guide. If there proved to be no -immediate need of starting for the station, he was determined -that Emily should not be condemned to pass the interval in the -housekeeper's company. In the meantime, Mrs. Rook was as eager as -ever to show her dear young lady what an amusing companion she -could be. - -"Talking of husbands," she resumed, "don't make the mistake, my -dear, that I committed. Beware of letting anybody persuade you to -marry an old man. Mr. Rook is old enough to be my father. I bear -with him. Of course, I bear with him. At the same time, I have -not (as the poet says) 'passed through the ordeal unscathed.' My -spirit--I have long since ceased to believe in anything of the -sort: I only use the word for want of a better--my spirit, I say, -has become embittered. I was once a pious young woman; I do -assure you I was nearly as good as my name. Don't let me shock -you; I have lost faith and hope; I have become--what's the last -new name for a free-thinker? Oh, I keep up with the times, thanks -to old Miss Redwood! She takes in the newspapers, and makes me -read them to her. What _is_ the new name? Something ending in ic. -Bombastic? No, Agnostic?--that's it! I have become an Agnostic. -The inevitable result of marrying an old man; if there's any -blame it rests on my husband." - -"There's more than an hour yet before the train starts," Alban -interposed. "I am sure, Miss Emily, you would find it pleasanter -to wait in the garden." - -"Not at all a bad notion," Mrs. Rook declared. "Here's a man who -can make himself useful, for once. Let's go into the garden." - -She rose, and led the way to the door. Alban seized the -opportunity of whispering to Emily. - -"Did you notice the empty decanter, when we first came in? That -horrid woman is drunk." - -Emily pointed significantly to the locket. "Don't let her go. The -garden will distract her attention: keep her near me here." - -Mrs. Rook gayly opened the door. "Take me to the flower-beds," -she said. "I believe in nothing--but I adore flowers." - -Mrs. Rook waited at the door, with her eye on Emily. "What do -_you_ say, miss?" - -"I think we shall be more comfortable if we stay where we are." - -"Whatever pleases you, my dear, pleases me." With this reply, the -compliant housekeeper--as amiable as ever on the -surface--returned to her chair. - -Would she notice the locket as she sat down? Emily turned toward -the window, so as to let the light fall on the diamonds. - -No: Mrs. Rook was absorbed, at the moment, in her own -reflections. Miss Emily, having prevented her from seeing the -garden, she was maliciously bent on disappointing Miss Emily in -return. Sir Jervis's secretary (being young) took a hopeful view -no doubt of her future prospects. Mrs. Rook decided on darkening -that view in a mischievously-suggestive manner, peculiar to -herself. - -"You will naturally feel some curiosity about your new home," she -began, "and I haven't said a word about it yet. How very -thoughtless of me! Inside and out, dear Miss Emily, our house is -just a little dull. I say _our_ house, and why not--when the -management of it is all thrown on me. We are built of stone; and -we are much too long, and are not half high enough. Our situation -is on the coldest side of the county, away in the west. We are -close to the Cheviot hills; and if you fancy there is anything to -see when you look out of window, except sheep, you will find -yourself woefully mistaken. As for walks, if you go out on one -side of the house you may, or may not, be gored by cattle. On the -other side, if the darkness overtakes you, you may, or may not, -tumble down a deserted lead mine. But the company, inside the -house, makes amends for it all," Mrs. Rook proceeded, enjoying -the expression of dismay which was beginning to show itself on -Emily's face. "Plenty of excitement for you, my dear, in our -small family. Sir Jervis will introduce you to plaster casts of -hideous Indian idols; he will keep you writing for him, without -mercy, from morning to night; and when he does let you go, old -Miss Redwood will find she can't sleep, and will send for the -pretty young lady-secretary to read to her. My husband I am sure -you will like. He is a respectable man, and bears the highest -character. Next to the idols, he's the most hideous object in the -house. If you are good enough to encourage him, I don't say that -he won't amuse you; he will tell you, for instance, he never in -his life hated any human being as he hates his wife. By the way, -I must not forget--in the interests of truth, you know--to -mention one drawback that does exist in our domestic circle. One -of these days we shall have our brains blown out or our throats -cut. Sir Jervis's mother left him ten thousand pounds' worth of -precious stones all contained in a little cabinet with drawers. -He won't let the banker take care of his jewels; he won't sell -them; he won't even wear one of the rings on his finger, or one -of the pins at his breast. He keeps his cabinet on his -dressing-room table; and he says, 'I like to gloat over my -jewels, every night, before I go to bed.' Ten thousand pounds' -worth of diamonds, rubies, emeralds, sapphires, and what not--at -the mercy of the first robber who happens to hear of them. Oh, my -dear, he would have no choice, I do assure you, but to use his -pistols. We shouldn't quietly submit to be robbed. Sir Jervis -inherits the spirit of his ancestors. My husband has the temper -of a game cock. I myself, in defense of the property of my -employers, am capable of becoming a perfect fiend. And we none of -us understand the use of firearms!" - -While she was in full enjoyment of this last aggravation of the -horrors of the prospect, Emily tried another change of -position--and, this time, with success. Greedy admiration -suddenly opened Mrs. Rook's little eyes to their utmost width. -"My heart alive, miss, what do I see at your watch-chain? How -they sparkle! Might I ask for a closer view?" - -Emily's fingers trembled; but she succeeded in detaching the -locket from the chain. Alban handed it to Mrs. Rook. - -She began by admiring the diamonds--with a certain reserve. -"Nothing like so large as Sir Jervis's diamonds; but choice -specimens no doubt. Might I ask what the value--?" - -She stopped. The inscription had attracted her notice: she began -to read it aloud: "In loving memory of my father. Died--" - -Her face instantly became rigid. The next words were suspended on -her lips. - -Alban seized the chance of making her betray herself--under -pretense of helping her. "Perhaps you find the figures not easy -to read," he said. "The date is 'thirtieth September, eighteen -hundred and seventy-seven'--nearly four years since." - -Not a word, not a movement, escaped Mrs. Rook. She held the -locket before her as she had held it from the first. Alban looked -at Emily. Her eyes were riveted on the housekeeper: she was -barely capable of preserving the appearance of composure. Seeing -the necessity of acting for her, he at once said the words which -she was unable to say for herself. - -"Perhaps, Mrs. Rook, you would like to look at the portrait?" he -suggested. "Shall I open the locket for you?" - -Without speaking, without looking up, she handed the locket to -Alban. - -He opened it, and offered it to her. She neither accepted nor -refused it: her hands remained hanging over the arms of the -chair. He put the locket on her lap. - -The portrait produced no marked effect on Mrs. Rook. Had the date -prepared her to see it? She sat looking at it--still without -moving: still without saying a word. Alban had no mercy on her. -"That is the portrait of Miss Emily's father," he said. "Does it -represent the same Mr. Brown whom you had in your mind when you -asked me if Miss Emily's father was still living?" - -That question roused her. She looked up, on the instant; she -answered loudly and insolently: 'No!" - -"And yet," Alban persisted, "you broke down in reading the -inscription: and considering what talkative woman you are, the -portrait has had a strange effect on you--to say the least of -it." - -She eyed him steadily while he was speaking--and turned to Emily -when he had done. "You mentioned the heat just now, miss. The -heat has overcome me; I shall soon get right again." - -The insolent futility of that excuse irritated Emily into -answering her. "You will get right again perhaps all the sooner," -she said, "if we trouble you with no more questions, and leave -you to recover by yourself." - -The first change of expression which relaxed the iron tensity of -the housekeeper's face showed itself when she heard that reply. -At last there was a feeling in Mrs. Rook which openly declared -itself--a feeling of impatience to see Alban and Emily leave the -room. - -They left her, without a word more. - - -CHAPTER X. - -GUESSES AT THE TRUTH. - -"What are we to do next? Oh, Mr. Morris, you must have seen all -sorts of people in your time--you know human nature, and I don't. -Help me with a word of advice!" - -Emily forgot that he was in love with her--forgot everything, but -the effect produced by the locket on Mrs. Rook, and the vaguely -alarming conclusion to which it pointed. In the fervor of her -anxiety she took Alban's arm as familiarly as if he had been her -brother. He was gentle, he was considerate; he tried earnestly to -compose her. "We can do nothing to any good purpose," be said, -"unless we begin by thinking quietly. Pardon me for saying -so--you are needlessly exciting yourself." - -There was a reason for her excitement, of which he was -necessarily ignorant. Her memory of the night interview with Miss -Jethro had inevitably intensified the suspicion inspired by the -conduct of Mrs. Rook. In less than twenty-four hours, Emily had -seen two women shrinking from secret remembrances of her -father--which might well be guilty remembrances--innocently -excited by herself! How had they injured him? Of what infamy, on -their parts, did his beloved and stainless memory remind them? -Who could fathom the mystery of it? "What does it mean?" she -cried, looking wildly in Alban's compassionate face. "You _must_ -have formed some idea of your own. What does it mean?" - -"Come, and sit down, Miss Emily. We will try if we can find out -what it means, together." - -They returned to the shady solitude under the trees. Away, in -front of the house, the distant grating of carriage wheels told -of the arrival of Miss Ladd's guests, and of the speedy beginning -of the ceremonies of the day. - -"We must help each other," Alban resumed. - -"When we first spoke of Mrs. Rook, you mentioned Miss Cecilia -Wyvil as a person who knew something about her. Have you any -objection to tell me what you may have heard in that way?" - -In complying with his request Emily necessarily repeated what -Cecilia had told Francine, when the two girls had met that -morning in the garden. - -Alban now knew how Emily had obtained employment as Sir Jervis's -secretary; how Mr. and Mrs. Rook had been previously known to -Cecilia's father as respectable people keeping an inn in his own -neighborhood; and, finally, how they had been obliged to begin -life again in domestic service, because the terrible event of a -murder had given the inn a bad name, and had driven away the -customers on whose encouragement their business depended. - -Listening in silence, Alban remained silent when Emily's -narrative had come to an end. - -"Have you nothing to say to me?" she asked. - -"I am thinking over what I have just heard," he answered. - -Emily noticed a certain formality in his tone and manner, which -disagreeably surprised her. He - seemed to have made his reply as a mere concession to -politeness, while he was thinking of something else which really -interested him. - -"Have I disappointed you in any way?" she asked. - -"On the contrary, you have interested me. I want to be quite sure -that I remember exactly what you have said. You mentioned, I -think, that your friendship with Miss Cecilia Wyvil began here, -at the school?" - -"Yes." - -"And in speaking of the murder at the village inn, you told me -that the crime was committed--I have forgotten how long ago?" - -His manner still suggested that he was idly talking about what -she had told him, while some more important subject for -reflection was in possession of his mind. - -"I don't know that I said anything about the time that had passed -since the crime was committed," she answered, sharply. "What does -the murder matter to _us?_ I think Cecilia told me it happened -about four years since. Excuse me for noticing it, Mr. -Morris--you seem to have some interests of your own to occupy -your attention. Why couldn't you say so plainly when we came out -here? I should not have asked you to help me, in that case. Since -my poor father's death, I have been used to fight through my -troubles by myself." - -She rose, and looked at him proudly. The next moment her eyes -filled with tears. - -In spite of her resistance, Alban took her hand. "Dear Miss -Emily," he said, "you distress me: you have not done me justice. -Your interests only are in my mind." - -Answering her in those terms, he had not spoken as frankly as -usual. He had only told her a part of the truth. - -Hearing that the woman whom they had just left had been landlady -of an inn, and that a murder had been committed under her roof, -he was led to ask himself if any explanation might be found, in -these circumstances, of the otherwise incomprehensible effect -produced on Mrs. Rook by the inscription on the locket. - -In the pursuit of this inquiry there had arisen in his mind a -monstrous suspicion, which pointed to Mrs. Rook. It impelled him -to ascertain the date at which the murder had been committed, and -(if the discovery encouraged further investigation) to find out -next the manner in which Mr. Brown had died. - -Thus far, what progress had he made? He had discovered that the -date of Mr. Brown's death, inscribed on the locket, and the date -of the crime committed at the inn, approached each other nearly -enough to justify further investigation. - -In the meantime, had he succeeded in keeping his object concealed -from Emily? He had perfectly succeeded. Hearing him declare that -her interests only had occupied his mind, the poor girl -innocently entreated him to forgive her little outbreak of -temper. "If you have any more questions to ask me, Mr. Morris, -pray go on. I promise never to think unjustly of you again." - -He went on with an uneasy conscience--for it seemed cruel to -deceive her, even in the interests of truth--but still he went -on. - -"Suppose we assume that this woman had injured your father in -some way," he said. "Am I right in believing that it was in his -character to forgive injuries?" - -"Entirely right." - -"In that case, his death may have left Mrs. Rook in a position to -be called to account, by those who owe a duty to his memory--I -mean the surviving members of his family." - -"There are but two of us, Mr. Morris. My aunt and myself." - -"There are his executors." - -"My aunt is his only executor." - -"Your father's sister--I presume?" - -"Yes." - -"He may have left instructions with her, which might be of the -greatest use to us." - -"I will write to-day, and find out," Emily replied. "I had -already planned to consult my aunt," she added, thinking again of -Miss Jethro. - -"If your aunt has not received any positive instructions," Alban -continued, "she may remember some allusion to Mrs. Rook, on your -father's part, at the time of his last illness--" - -Emily stopped him. "You don't know how my dear father died," she -said. "He was struck down--apparently in perfect health--by -disease of the heart." - -"Struck down in his own house?" - -"Yes--in his own house." - -Those words closed Alban's lips. The investigation so carefully -and so delicately conducted had failed to serve any useful -purpose. He had now ascertained the manner of Mr. Brown's death -and the place of Mr. Brown's death--and he was as far from -confirming his suspicions of Mrs. Rook as ever. - - -CHAPTER XI. - -THE DRAWING-MASTER'S CONFESSION. - -"Is there nothing else you can suggest?" Emily asked. - -"Nothing--at present." - -"If my aunt fails us, have we no other hope?" - -"I have hope in Mrs. Rook," Alban answered. "I see I surprise -you; but I really mean what I say. Sir Jervis's housekeeper is an -excitable woman, and she is fond of wine. There is always a weak -side in the character of such a person as that. If we wait for -our chance, and turn it to the right use when it comes, we may -yet succeed in making her betray herself." - -Emily listened to him in bewilderment. - -"You talk as if I was sure of your help in the future," she said. -"Have you forgotten that I leave school to-day, never to return? -In half an hour more, I shall be condemned to a long journey in -the company of that horrible creature--with a life to look -forward to, in the same house with her, among strangers! A -miserable prospect, and a hard trial of a girl's courage--is it -not, Mr. Morris?" - -"You will at least have one person, Miss Emily, who will try with -all his heart and soul to encourage you." - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean," said Alban, quietly, "that the Midsummer vacation -begins to-day; and that the drawing-master is going to spend his -holidays in the North." - -Emily jumped up from her chair. "You!" she exclaimed. "_You_ are -going to Northumberland? With me?" - -"Why not?" Alban asked. "The railway is open to all travelers -alike, if they have money enough to buy a ticket." - -"Mr. Morris! what _can_ you be thinking of? Indeed, indeed, I am -not ungrateful. I know you mean kindly--you are a good, generous -man. But do remember how completely a girl, in my position, is at -the mercy of appearances. You, traveling in the same carriage -with me! and that woman putting her own vile interpretation on -it, and degrading me in Sir Jervis Redwood's estimation, on the -day when I enter his house! Oh, it's worse than thoughtless--it's -madness, downright madness." - -"You are quite right," Alban gravely agreed, "it _is_ madness. I -lost whatever little reason I once possessed, Miss Emily, on the -day when I first met you out walking with the young ladies of the -school." - -Emily turned away in significant silence. Alban followed her. - -"You promised just now," he said, "never to think unjustly of me -again. I respect and admire you far too sincerely to take a base -advantage of this occasion--the only occasion on which I have -been permitted to speak with you alone. Wait a little before you -condemn a man whom you don't understand. I will say nothing to -annoy you--I only ask leave to explain myself. Will you take your -chair again?" - -She returned unwillingly to her seat. "It can only end," she -thought, sadly, "in my disappointing him!" - -"I have had the worst possible opinion of women for years past," -Alban resumed; "and the only reason I can give for it condemns me -out of my own mouth. I have been infamously treated by one woman; -and my wounded self-esteem has meanly revenged itself by reviling -the whole sex. Wait a little, Miss Emily. My fault has received -its fit punishment. I have been thoroughly humiliated--and _you_ -have done it." - -"Mr. Morris!" - -"Take no offense, pray, where no offense is meant. Some few years -since it was the great misfortune of my life to meet with a Jilt. -You know what I mean?" - -"Yes." - -"She was my equal by birth (I am a younger son of a country -squire), and my superior in rank. I can honestly tell you that I -was fool enough to love her with all my heart and soul. She never -allowed me to doubt--I may say this without conceit, remembering -the miserable end of it--that my feeling for her was returned. -Her father and mother (excellent people) approved of the -contemplated marriage. She accepted my presents; she allowed all -the customary preparations for a wedding to proceed to -completion; she had not even mercy en ough, or shame enough, to -prevent me from publicly degrading myself by waiting for her at -the altar, in the presence of a large congregation. The minutes -passed--and no bride appeared. The clergyman, waiting like me, -was requested to return to the vestry. I was invited to follow -him. You foresee the end of the story, of course? She had run -away with another man. But can you guess who the man was? Her -groom!" - -Emily's face reddened with indignation. "She suffered for it? Oh, -Mr. Morris, surely she suffered for it?" - -"Not at all. She had money enough to reward the groom for -marrying her; and she let herself down easily to her husband's -level. It was a suitable marriage in every respect. When I last -heard of them, they were regularly in the habit of getting drunk -together. I am afraid I have disgusted you? We will drop the -subject, and resume my precious autobiography at a later date. -One showery day in the autumn of last year, you young ladies went -out with Miss Ladd for a walk. When you were all trotting back -again, under your umbrellas, did you (in particular) notice an -ill-tempered fellow standing in the road, and getting a good look -at you, on the high footpath above him?" - -Emily smiled, in spite of herself. "I don't remember it," she -said. - -"You wore a brown jacket which fitted you as if you had been born -in it--and you had the smartest little straw hat I ever saw on a -woman's head. It was the first time I ever noticed such things. I -think I could paint a portrait of the boots you wore (mud -included), from memory alone. That was the impression you -produced on me. After believing, honestly believing, that love -was one of the lost illusions of my life--after feeling, honestly -feeling, that I would as soon look at the devil as look at a -woman--there was the state of mind to which retribution had -reduced me; using for his instrument Miss Emily Brown. Oh, don't -be afraid of what I may say next! In your presence, and out of -your presence, I am man enough to be ashamed of my own folly. I -am resisting your influence over me at this moment, with the -strongest of all resolutions--the resolution of despair. Let's -look at the humorous side of the story again. What do you think I -did when the regiment of young ladies had passed by me?" - -Emily declined to guess. - -"I followed you back to the school; and, on pretense of having a -daughter to educate, I got one of Miss Ladd's prospectuses from -the porter at the lodge gate. I was in your neighborhood, you -must know, on a sketching tour. I went back to my inn, and -seriously considered what had happened to me. The result of my -cogitations was that I went abroad. Only for a change--not at all -because I was trying to weaken the impression you had produced on -me! After a while I returned to England. Only because I was tired -of traveling--not at all because your influence drew me back! -Another interval passed; and luck turned my way, for a wonder. -The drawing-master's place became vacant here. Miss Ladd -advertised; I produced my testimonials; and took the situation. -Only because the salary was a welcome certainty to a poor -man--not at all because the new position brought me into personal -association with Miss Emily Brown! Do you begin to see why I have -troubled you with all this talk about myself? Apply the -contemptible system of self-delusion which my confession has -revealed, to that holiday arrangement for a tour in the north -which has astonished and annoyed you. I am going to travel this -afternoon by your train. Only because I feel an intelligent -longing to see the northernmost county of England--not at all -because I won't let you trust yourself alone with Mrs. Rook! Not -at all because I won't leave you to enter Sir Jervis Redwood's -service without a friend within reach in case you want him! Mad? -Oh, yes--perfectly mad. But, tell me this: What do all sensible -people do when they find themselves in the company of a lunatic? -They humor him. Let me take your ticket and see your luggage -labeled: I only ask leave to be your traveling servant. If you -are proud--I shall like you all the better, if you are--pay me -wages, and keep me in my proper place in that way. - -Some girls, addressed with this reckless intermingling of jest -and earnest, would have felt confused, and some would have felt -flattered. With a good-tempered resolution, which never passed -the limits of modesty and refinement, Emily met Alban Morris on -his own ground. - -"You have said you respect me," she began; "I am going to prove -that I believe you. The least I can do is not to misinterpret -you, on my side. Am I to understand, Mr. Morris--you won't think -the worse of me, I hope, if I speak plainly--am I to understand -that you are in love with me?" - -"Yes, Miss Emily--if you please." - -He had answered with the quaint gravity which was peculiar to -him; but he was already conscious of a sense of discouragement. -Her composure was a bad sign--from his point of view. - -"My time will come, I daresay," she proceeded. "At present I know -nothing of love, by experience; I only know what some of my -schoolfellows talk about in secret. Judging by what they tell me, -a girl blushes when her lover pleads with her to favor his -addresses. Am I blushing?" - -"Must I speak plainly, too?" Alban asked. - -"If you have no objection," she answered, as composedly as if she -had been addressing her grandfather. - -"Then, Miss Emily, I must say--you are not blushing." - -She went on. "Another token of love--as I am informed--is to -tremble. Am I trembling?" - -"No." - -"Am I too confused to look at you?" - -"No." - -"Do I walk away with dignity--and then stop, and steal a timid -glance at my lover, over my shoulder?" - -"I wish you did!" - -"A plain answer, Mr. Morris! Yes or No." - -"No--of course." - -"In one last word, do I give you any sort of encouragement to try -again?" - -"In one last word, I have made a fool of myself--and you have -taken the kindest possible way of telling me so." - -This time, she made no attempt to reply in his own tone. The -good-humored gayety of her manner disappeared. She was in -earnest--truly, sadly in earnest--when she said her next words. - -"Is it not best, in your own interests, that we should bid each -other good-by?" she asked. "In the time to come--when you only -remember how kind you once were to me--we may look forward to -meeting again. After all that you have suffered, so bitterly and -so undeservedly, don't, pray don't, make me feel that another -woman has behaved cruelly to you, and that I--so grieved to -distress you--am that heartless creature!" - -Never in her life had she been so irresistibly charming as she -was at that moment. Her sweet nature showed all its innocent pity -for him in her face. - -He saw it--he felt it--he was not unworthy of it. In silence, he -lifted her hand to his lips. He turned pale as he kissed it. - -"Say that you agree with me?" she pleaded. - -"I obey you." - -As he answered, he pointed to the lawn at their feet. "Look," he -said, "at that dead leaf which the air is wafting over the grass. -Is it possible that such sympathy as you feel for Me, such love -as I feel for You, can waste, wither, and fall to the ground like -that leaf? I leave you, Emily--with the firm conviction that -there is a time of fulfillment to come in our two lives. Happen -what may in the interval--I trust the future." - - - -The words had barely passed his lips when the voice of one of the -servants reached them from the house. "Miss Emily, are you in the -garden?" - -Emily stepped out into the sunshine. The servant hurried to meet -her, and placed a telegram in her hand. She looked at it with a -sudden misgiving. In her small experience, a telegram was -associated with the communication of bad news. She conquered her -hesitation--opened it--read it. The color left her face: she -shuddered. The telegram dropped on the grass. - -"Read it," she said, faintly, as Alban picked it up. - -He read these words: "Come to London directly. Miss Letitia is -dangerously ill." - -"Your aunt?" he asked. - -"Yes--my aunt." - - -BOOK THE SECOND--IN LONDON. - -CHAPTER XII. - -MRS. ELLMOTHER. - -The metropolis of Great Britain is, in certain respects, like no -other metropolis on the face of the earth. In the population that -throngs the st reets, the extremes of Wealth and the extremes of -Poverty meet, as they meet nowhere else. In the streets -themselves, the glory and the shame of architecture--the mansion -and the hovel--are neighbors in situation, as they are neighbors -nowhere else. London, in its social aspect, is the city of -contrasts. - -Toward the close of evening Emily left the railway terminus for -the place of residence in which loss of fortune had compelled her -aunt to take refuge. As she approached her destination, the cab -passed--by merely crossing a road--from a spacious and beautiful -Park, with its surrounding houses topped by statues and cupolas, -to a row of cottages, hard by a stinking ditch miscalled a canal. -The city of contrasts: north and south, east and west, the city -of social contrasts. - -Emily stopped the cab before the garden gate of a cottage, at the -further end of the row. The bell was answered by the one servant -now in her aunt's employ--Miss Letitia's maid. - -Personally, this good creature was one of the ill-fated women -whose appearance suggests that Nature intended to make men of -them and altered her mind at the last moment. Miss Letitia's maid -was tall and gaunt and awkward. The first impression produced by -her face was an impression of bones. They rose high on her -forehead; they projected on her cheeks; and they reached their -boldest development in her jaws. In the cavernous eyes of this -unfortunate person rigid obstinacy and rigid goodness looked out -together, with equal severity, on all her fellow-creatures alike. -Her mistress (whom she had served for a quarter of a century and -more) called her "Bony." She accepted this cruelly appropriate -nick-name as a mark of affectionate familiarity which honored a -servant. No other person was allowed to take liberties with her: -to every one but her mistress she was known as Mrs. Ellmother. - -"How is my aunt?" Emily asked. - -"Bad." - -"Why have I not heard of her illness before?" - -"Because she's too fond of you to let you be distressed about -her. 'Don't tell Emily'; those were her orders, as long as she -kept her senses." - -"Kept her senses? Good heavens! what do you mean?" - -"Fever--that's what I mean." - -"I must see her directly; I am not afraid of infection." - -"There's no infection to be afraid of. But you mustn't see her, -for all that." - -"I insist on seeing her." - -"Miss Emily, I am disappointing you for your own good. Don't you -know me well enough to trust me by this time?" - -"I do trust you." - -"Then leave my mistress to me--and go and make yourself -comfortable in your own room." - -Emily's answer was a positive refusal. Mrs. Ellmother, driven to -her last resources, raised a new obstacle. - -"It's not to be done, I tell you! How can you see Miss Letitia -when she can't bear the light in her room? Do you know what color -her eyes are? Red, poor soul--red as a boiled lobster." - -With every word the woman uttered, Emily's perplexity and -distress increased. - -"You told me my aunt's illness was fever," she said--"and now you -speak of some complaint in her eyes. Stand out of the way, if you -please, and let me go to her." - -Mrs. Ellmother, still keeping her place, looked through the open -door. - -"Here's the doctor," she announced. "It seems I can't satisfy -you; ask him what's the matter. Come in, doctor." She threw open -the door of the parlor, and introduced Emily. "This is the -mistress's niece, sir. Please try if _you_ can keep her quiet. I -can't." She placed chairs with the hospitable politeness of the -old school--and returned to her post at Miss Letitia's bedside. - -Doctor Allday was an elderly man, with a cool manner and a ruddy -complexion--thoroughly acclimatized to the atmosphere of pain and -grief in which it was his destiny to live. He spoke to Emily -(without any undue familiarity) as if he had been accustomed to -see her for the greater part of her life. - -"That's a curious woman," he said, when Mrs. Ellmother closed the -door; "the most headstrong person, I think, I ever met with. But -devoted to her mistress, and, making allowance for her -awkwardness, not a bad nurse. I am afraid I can't give you an -encouraging report of your aunt. The rheumatic fever (aggravated -by the situation of this house--built on clay, you know, and -close to stagnant water) has been latterly complicated by -delirium." - -"Is that a bad sign, sir?" - -"The worst possible sign; it shows that the disease has affected -the heart. Yes: she is suffering from inflammation of the eyes, -but that is an unimportant symptom. We can keep the pain under by -means of cooling lotions and a dark room. I've often heard her -speak of you--especially since the illness assumed a serious -character. What did you say? Will she know you, when you go into -her room? This is about the time when the delirium usually sets -in. I'll see if there's a quiet interval.' - -He opened the door--and came back again. - -"By the way," he resumed, "I ought perhaps to explain how it was -that I took the liberty of sending you that telegram. Mrs. -Ellmother refused to inform you of her mistress's serious -illness. That circumstance, according to my view of it, laid the -responsibility on the doctor's shoulders. The form taken by your -aunt's delirium--I mean the apparent tendency of the words that -escape her in that state--seems to excite some incomprehensible -feeling in the mind of her crabbed servant. She wouldn't even let -_me_ go into the bedroom, if she could possibly help it. Did Mrs. -Ellmother give you a warm welcome when you came here?" - -"Far from it. My arrival seemed to annoy her." - -"Ah--just what I expected. These faithful old servants always end -by presuming on their fidelity. Did you ever hear what a witty -poet--I forget his name: he lived to be ninety--said of the man -who had been his valet for more than half a century? 'For thirty -years he was the best of servants; and for thirty years he has -been the hardest of masters.' Quite true--I might say the same of -my housekeeper. Rather a good story, isn't it?" - -The story was completely thrown away on Emily; but one subject -interested her now. "My poor aunt has always been fond of me," -she said. "Perhaps she might know me, when she recognizes nobody -else." - -"Not very likely," the doctor answered. "But there's no laying -down any rule in cases of this kind. I have sometimes observed -that circumstances which have produced a strong impression on -patients, when they are in a state of health, give a certain -direction to the wandering of their minds, when they are in a -state of fever. You will say, 'I am not a circumstance; I don't -see how this encourages me to hope'--and you will be quite right. -Instead of talking of my medical experience, I shall do better to -look at Miss Letitia, and let you know the result. You have got -other relations, I suppose? No? Very distressing--very -distressing." - -Who has not suffered as Emily suffered, when she was left alone? -Are there not moments--if we dare to confess the truth--when poor -humanity loses its hold on the consolations of religion and the -hope of immortality, and feels the cruelty of creation that bids -us live, on the condition that we die, and leads the first warm -beginnings of love, with merciless certainty, to the cold -conclusion of the grave? - -"She's quiet, for the time being," Dr. Allday announced, on his -return. "Remember, please, that she can't see you in the inflamed -state of her eyes, and don't disturb the bed-curtains. The sooner -you go to her the better, perhaps--if you have anything to say -which depends on her recognizing your voice. I'll call to-morrow -morning. Very distressing," he repeated, taking his hat and -making his bow--"Very distressing." - -Emily crossed the narrow little passage which separated the two -rooms, and opened the bed-chamber door. Mrs. Ellmother met her on -the threshold. "No," said the obstinate old servant, "you can't -come in." - -The faint voice of Miss Letitia made itself heard, calling Mrs. -Ellmother by her familiar nick-name. - -"Bony, who is it?" - -"Never mind." - -"Who is it?" - -"Miss Emily, if you must know." - -"Oh! poor dear, why does she come here? Who told her I was ill?" - -"The doctor told her." - -"Don't come in, Emily. It will only distress you--and it will do -me no good. God bles s you, my love. Don't come in." - -"There!" said Mrs. Ellmother. "Do you hear that? Go back to the -sitting-room." - -Thus far, the hard necessity of controlling herself had kept -Emily silent. She was now able to speak without tears. "Remember -the old times, aunt," she pleaded, gently. "Don't keep me out of -your room, when I have come here to nurse you!" - -"I'm her nurse. Go back to the sitting-room," Mrs. Ellmother -repeated. - -True love lasts while life lasts. The dying woman relented. - -"Bony! Bony! I can't be unkind to Emily. Let her in." - -Mrs. Ellmother still insisted on having her way. - -"You're contradicting your own orders," she said to her mistress. -"You don't know how soon you may begin wandering in your mind -again. Think, Miss Letitia--think." - -This remonstrance was received in silence. Mrs. Ellmother's great -gaunt figure still blocked up the doorway. - -"If you force me to it," Emily said, quietly, "I must go to the -doctor, and ask him to interfere." - -"Do you mean that?" Mrs. Ellmother said, quietly, on her side. - -"I do mean it," was the answer. - -The old servant suddenly submitted--with a look which took Emily -by surprise. She had expected to see anger; the face that now -confronted her was a face subdued by sorrow and fear. - -"I wash my hands of it," Mrs. Ellmother said. "Go in--and take -the consequences." - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -MISS LETITIA. - -Emily entered the room. The door was immediately closed on her -from the outer side. Mrs. Ellmother's heavy steps were heard -retreating along the passage. Then the banging of the door that -led into the kitchen shook the flimsily-built cottage. Then, -there was silence. - -The dim light of a lamp hidden away in a corner and screened by a -dingy green shade, just revealed the closely-curtained bed, and -the table near it bearing medicine-bottles and glasses. The only -objects on the chimney-piece were a clock that had been stopped -in mercy to the sufferer's irritable nerves, and an open case -containing a machine for pouring drops into the eyes. The smell -of fumigating pastilles hung heavily on the air. To Emily's -excited imagination, the silence was like the silence of death. -She approached the bed trembling. "Won't you speak to me, aunt?" - -"Is that you, Emily? Who let you come in?" - -"You said I might come in, dear. Are you thirsty? I see some -lemonade on the table. Shall I give it to you?" - -"No! If you open the bed-curtains, you let in the light. My poor -eyes! Why are you here, my dear? Why are you not at the school?" - -"It's holiday-time, aunt. Besides, I have left school for good." - -"Left school?" Miss Letitia's memory made an effort, as she -repeated those words. "You were going somewhere when you left -school," she said, "and Cecilia Wyvil had something to do with -it. Oh, my love, how cruel of you to go away to a stranger, when -you might live here with me!" She paused--her sense of what she -had herself just said began to grow confused. "What stranger?" -she asked abruptly. "Was it a man? What name? Oh, my mind! Has -death got hold of my mind before my body?" - -"Hush! hush! I'll tell you the name. Sir Jervis Redwood." - -"I don't know him. I don't want to know him. Do you think he -means to send for you. Perhaps he _has_ sent for you. I won't -allow it! You shan't go!" - -"Don't excite yourself, dear! I have refused to go; I mean to -stay here with you." - -The fevered brain held to its last idea. "_Has_ he sent for you?" -she said again, louder than before. - -Emily replied once more, in terms carefully chosen with the one -purpose of pacifying her. The attempt proved to be useless, and -worse--it seemed to make her suspicious. "I won't be deceived!" -she said; "I mean to know all about it. He did send for you. Whom -did he send?" - -"His housekeeper." - -"What name?" The tone in which she put the question told of -excitement that was rising to its climax. "Don't you know that -I'm curious about names?" she burst out. "Why do you provoke me? -Who is it?" - -"Nobody you know, or need care about, dear aunt. Mrs. Rook." - -Instantly on the utterance of that name, there followed an -unexpected result. Silence ensued. - -Emily waited--hesitated--advanced, to part the curtains, and look -in at her aunt. She was stopped by a dreadful sound of -laughter--the cheerless laughter that is heard among the mad. It -suddenly ended in a dreary sigh. - -Afraid to look in, she spoke, hardly knowing what she said. "Is -there anything you wish for? Shall I call--?" - -Miss Letitia's voice interrupted her. Dull, low, rapidly -muttering, it was unlike, shockingly unlike, the familiar voice -of her aunt. It said strange words. - -"Mrs. Rook? What does Mrs. Rook matter? Or her husband either? -Bony, Bony, you're frightened about nothing. Where's the danger -of those two people turning up? Do you know how many miles away -the village is? Oh, you fool--a hundred miles and more. Never -mind the coroner, the coroner must keep in his own district--and -the jury too. A risky deception? I call it a pious fraud. And I -have a tender conscience, and a cultivated mind. The newspaper? -How is _our_ newspaper to find its way to her, I should like to -know? You poor old Bony! Upon my word you do me good--you make me -laugh." - -The cheerless laughter broke out again--and died away again -drearily in a sigh. - -Accustomed to decide rapidly in the ordinary emergencies of her -life, Emily felt herself painfully embarrassed by the position in -which she was now placed. - -After what she had already heard, could she reconcile it to her -sense of duty to her aunt to remain any longer in the room? - -In the hopeless self-betrayal of delirium, Miss Letitia had -revealed some act of concealment, committed in her past life, and -confided to her faithful old servant. Under these circumstances, -had Emily made any discoveries which convicted her of taking a -base advantage of her position at the bedside? Most assuredly -not! The nature of the act of concealment; the causes that had -led to it; the person (or persons) affected by it--these were -mysteries which left her entirely in the dark. She had found out -that her aunt was acquainted with Mrs. Rook, and that was -literally all she knew. - -Blameless, so far, in the line of conduct that she had pursued, -might she still remain in the bed-chamber--on this distinct -understanding with herself: that she would instantly return to -the sitting-room if she heard anything which could suggest a -doubt of Miss Letitia's claim to her affection and respect? After -some hesitation, she decided on leaving it to her conscience to -answer that question. Does conscience ever say, No--when -inclination says, Yes? Emily's conscience sided with her -reluctance to leave her aunt. - -Throughout the time occupied by these reflections, the silence -had remained unbroken. Emily began to feel uneasy. She timidly -put her hand through the curtains, and took Miss Letitia's hand. -The contact with the burning skin startled her. She turned away -to the door, to call the servant--when the sound of her aunt's -voice hurried her back to the bed. - -"Are you there, Bony?" the voice asked. - -Was her mind getting clear again? Emily tried the experiment of -making a plain reply. "Your niece is with you," she said. "Shall -I call the servant?" - -Miss Letitia's mind was still far away from Emily, and from the -present time. - -"The servant?" she repeated. "All the servants but you, Bony, -have been sent away. London's the place for us. No gossiping -servants and no curious neighbors in London. Bury the horrid -truth in London. Ah, you may well say I look anxious and -wretched. I hate deception--and yet, it must be done. Why do you -waste time in talking? Why don't you find out where the vile -woman lives? Only let me get at her--and I'll make Sara ashamed -of herself." - -Emily's heart beat fast when she heard the woman's name. "Sara" -(as she and her school-fellows knew) was the baptismal name of -Miss Jethro. Had her aunt alluded to the disgraced teacher, or to -some other woman? - -She waited eagerly to hear more. There was nothing to be heard. -At this most interesting moment, the silence remained -undisturbed. - -In the fervor of her anxiety to set her doubts at rest, Emily's -faith in her own good resolutions began to waver. The temptation -to say somethin g which might set her aunt talking again was too -strong to be resisted--if she remained at the bedside. Despairing -of herself she rose and turned to the door. In the moment that -passed while she crossed the room the very words occurred to her -that would suit her purpose. Her cheeks were hot with shame--she -hesitated--she looked back at the bed--the words passed her lips. - -"Sara is only one of the woman's names," she said. "Do you like -her other name?" - -The rapidly-muttering tones broke out again instantly--but not in -answer to Emily. The sound of a voice had encouraged Miss Letitia -to pursue her own confused train of thought, and had stimulated -the fast-failing capacity of speech to exert itself once more. - -"No! no! He's too cunning for you, and too cunning for me. He -doesn't leave letters about; he destroys them all. Did I say he -was too cunning for us? It's false. We are too cunning for him. -Who found the morsels of his letter in the basket? Who stuck them -together? Ah, _we_ know! Don't read it, Bony. 'Dear Miss -Jethro'--don't read it again. 'Miss Jethro' in his letter; and -'Sara,' when he talks to himself in the garden. Oh, who would -have believed it of him, if we hadn't seen and heard it -ourselves!" - -There was no more doubt now. - -But who was the man, so bitterly and so regretfully alluded to? - -No: this time Emily held firmly by the resolution which bound her -to respect the helpless position of her aunt. The speediest way -of summoning Mrs. Ellmother would be to ring the bell. As she -touched the handle a faint cry of suffering from the bed called -her back. - -"Oh, so thirsty!" murmured the failing voice--so thirsty!" - -She parted the curtains. The shrouded lamplight just showed her -the green shade over Miss Letitia s eyes--the hollow cheeks below -it--the arms laid helplessly on the bed-clothes. "Oh, aunt, don't -you know my voice? Don't you know Emily? Let me kiss you, dear!" -Useless to plead with her; useless to kiss her; she only -reiterated the words, "So thirsty! so thirsty!" Emily raised the -poor tortured body with a patient caution which spared it pain, -and put the glass to her aunt's lips. She drank the lemonade to -the last drop. Refreshed for the moment, she spoke again--spoke -to the visionary servant of her delirious fancy, while she rested -in Emily's arms. - -"For God's sake, take care how you answer if she questions you. -If _she_ knew what _we_ know! Are men ever ashamed? Ha! the vile -woman! the vile woman!" - -Her voice, sinking gradually, dropped to a whisper. The next few -words that escaped her were muttered inarticulately. Little by -little, the false energy of fever was wearing itself out. She lay -silent and still. To look at her now was to look at the image of -death. Once more, Emily kissed her--closed the curtains--and rang -the bell. Mrs. Ellmother failed to appear. Emily left the room to -call her. - -Arrived at the top of the kitchen stairs, she noted a slight -change. The door below, which she had heard banged on first -entering her aunt's room, now stood open. She called to Mrs. -Ellmother. A strange voice answered her. Its accent was soft and -courteous; presenting the strongest imaginable contrast to the -harsh tones of Miss Letitia's crabbed old maid. - -"Is there anything I can do for you, miss?" - -The person making this polite inquiry appeared at the foot of the -stairs--a plump and comely woman of middle age. She looked up at -the young lady with a pleasant smile. - -"I beg your pardon," Emily said; "I had no intention of -disturbing you. I called to Mrs. Ellmother." - -The stranger advanced a little way up the stairs, and answered, -"Mrs. Ellmother is not here." - -"Do you expect her back soon?" - -"Excuse me, miss--I don't expect her back at all." - -"Do you mean to say that she has left the house?" - -"Yes, miss. She has left the house." - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -MRS. MOSEY. - -Emily's first act--after the discovery of Mrs. Ellmother's -incomprehensible disappearance--was to invite the new servant to -follow her into the sitting-room. - -"Can you explain this?" she began. - -"No, miss." - -"May I ask if you have come here by Mrs. Ellmother's invitation?" - -"By Mrs. Ellmother's _request_, miss." - -"Can you tell me how she came to make the request?" - -"With pleasure, miss. Perhaps--as you find me here, a stranger to -yourself, in place of the customary servant--I ought to begin by -giving you a reference." - -"And, perhaps (if you will be so kind), by mentioning your name," -Emily added. - -"Thank you for reminding me, miss. My name is Elizabeth Mosey. I -am well known to the gentleman who attends Miss Letitia. Dr. -Allday will speak to my character and also to my experience as a -nurse. If it would be in any way satisfactory to give you a -second reference--" - -"Quite needless, Mrs. Mosey." - -"Permit me to thank you again, miss. I was at home this evening, -when Mrs. Ellmother called at my lodgings. Says she, 'I have come -here, Elizabeth, to ask a favor of you for old friendship's -sake.' Says I, 'My dear, pray command me, whatever it may be.' If -this seems rather a hasty answer to make, before I knew what the -favor was, might I ask you to bear in mind that Mrs. Ellmother -put it to me 'for old friendship's sake'--alluding to my late -husband, and to the business which we carried on at that time? -Through no fault of ours, we got into difficulties. Persons whom -we had trusted proved unworthy. Not to trouble you further, I may -say at once, we should have been ruined, if our old friend Mrs. -Ellmother had not come forward, and trusted us with the savings -of her lifetime. The money was all paid back again, before my -husband's death. But I don't consider--and, I think you won't -consider--that the obligation was paid back too. Prudent or not -prudent, there is nothing Mrs. Ellmother can ask of me that I am -not willing to do. If I have put myself in an awkward situation -(and I don't deny that it looks so) this is the only excuse, -miss, that I can make for my conduct." - -Mrs. Mosey was too fluent, and too fond of hearing the sound of -her own eminently persuasive voice. Making allowance for these -little drawbacks, the impression that she produced was decidedly -favorable; and, however rashly she might have acted, her motive -was beyond reproach. Having said some kind words to this effect, -Emily led her back to the main interest of her narrative. - -"Did Mrs. Ellmother give no reason for leaving my aunt, at such a -time as this?" she asked. - -"The very words I said to her, miss." - -"And what did she say, by way of reply?" - -"She burst out crying--a thing I have never known her to do -before, in an experience of twenty years." - -"And she really asked you to take her place here, at a moment's -notice?" - -"That was just what she did," Mrs. Mosey answered. "I had no need -to tell her I was astonished; my lips spoke for me, no doubt. -She's a hard woman in speech and manner, I admit. But there's -more feeling in her than you would suppose. 'If you are the good -friend I take you for,' she says, 'don't ask me for reasons; I am -doing what is forced on me, and doing it with a heavy heart.' In -my place, miss, would you have insisted on her explaining -herself, after that? The one thing I naturally wanted to know -was, if I could speak to some lady, in the position of mistress -here, before I ventured to intrude. Mrs. Ellmother understood -that it was her duty to help me in this particular. Your poor -aunt being out of the question she mentioned you." - -"How did she speak of me? In an angry way?" - -"No, indeed--quite the contrary. She says, 'You will find Miss -Emily at the cottage. She is Miss Letitia's niece. Everybody -likes her--and everybody is right.'" - -"She really said that?" - -"Those were her words. And, what is more, she gave me a message -for you at parting. 'If Miss Emily is surprised' (that was how -she put it) 'give her my duty and good wishes; and tell her to -remember what I said, when she took my place at her aunt's -bedside.' I don't presume to inquire what this means," said Mrs. -Mosey respectfully, ready to hear what it meant, if Emily would -only be so good as to tell her. "I deliver the message, miss, as -it was delivered to me. After which, Mrs. Ellmother went her way, -and I went mine." - -"Do you know where she wen t?" - -"No, miss." - -"Have you nothing more to tell me?" - -"Nothing more; except that she gave me my directions, of course, -about the nursing. I took them down in writing--and you will find -them in their proper place, with the prescriptions and the -medicines." - -Acting at once on this hint, Emily led the way to her aunt's -room. - -Miss Letitia was silent, when the new nurse softly parted the -curtains--looked in--and drew them together again. Consulting her -watch, Mrs. Mosey compared her written directions with the -medicine-bottles on the table, and set one apart to be used at -the appointed time. "Nothing, so far, to alarm us," she -whispered. "You look sadly pale and tired, miss. Might I advise -you to rest a little?" - -"If there is any change, Mrs. Mosey--either for the better or the -worse--of course you will let me know?" - -"Certainly, miss." - -Emily returned to the sitting-room: not to rest (after all that -she had heard), but to think. - - - -Amid much that was unintelligible, certain plain conclusions -presented themselves to her mind. - -After what the doctor had already said to Emily, on the subject -of delirium generally, Mrs. Ellmother's proceedings became -intelligible: they proved that she knew by experience the -perilous course taken by her mistress's wandering thoughts, when -they expressed themselves in words. This explained the -concealment of Miss Letitia's illness from her niece, as well as -the reiterated efforts of the old servant to prevent Emily from -entering the bedroom. - -But the event which had just happened--that is to say, Mrs. -Ellmother's sudden departure from the cottage--was not only of -serious importance in itself, but pointed to a startling -conclusion. - -The faithful maid had left the mistress, whom she had loved and -served, sinking under a fatal illness--and had put another woman -in her place, careless of what that woman might discover by -listening at the bedside--rather than confront Emily after she -had been within hearing of her aunt while the brain of the -suffering woman was deranged by fever. There was the state of the -case, in plain words. - -In what frame of mind had Mrs. Ellmother adopted this desperate -course of action? - -To use her own expression, she had deserted Miss Letitia "with a -heavy heart." To judge by her own language addressed to Mrs. -Mosey, she had left Emily to the mercy of a stranger--animated, -nevertheless, by sincere feelings of attachment and respect. That -her fears had taken for granted suspicion which Emily had not -felt, and discoveries which Emily had (as yet) not made, in no -way modified the serious nature of the inference which her -conduct justified. The disclosure which this woman dreaded--who -could doubt it now?--directly threatened Emily's peace of mind. -There was no disguising it: the innocent niece was associated -with an act of deception, which had been, until that day, the -undetected secret of the aunt and the aunt's maid. - -In this conclusion, and in this only, was to be found the -rational explanation of Mrs. Ellmother's choice--placed between -the alternatives of submitting to discovery by Emily, or of -leaving the house. - - -Poor Miss Letitia's writing-table stood near the window of the -sitting-room. Shrinking from the further pursuit of thoughts -which might end in disposing her mind to distrust of her dying -aunt, Emily looked round in search of some employment -sufficiently interesting to absorb her attention. The -writing-table reminded her that she owed a letter to Cecilia. -That helpful friend had surely the first claim to know why she -had failed to keep her engagement with Sir Jervis Redwood. - -After mentioning the telegram which had followed Mrs. Rook's -arrival at the school, Emily's letter proceeded in these terms: - -"As soon as I had in some degree recovered myself, I informed -Mrs. Rook of my aunt's serious illness. - -"Although she carefully confined herself to commonplace -expressions of sympathy, I could see that it was equally a relief -to both of us to feel that we were prevented from being traveling -companions. Don't suppose that I have taken a capricious dislike -to Mrs. Rook--or that you are in any way to blame for the -unfavorable impression which she has produced on me. I will make -this plain when we meet. In the meanwhile, I need only tell you -that I gave her a letter of explanation to present to Sir Jervis -Redwood. I also informed him of my address in London: adding a -request that he would forward your letter, in case you have -written to me before you receive these lines. - -"Kind Mr. Alban Morris accompanied me to the railway-station, and -arranged with the guard to take special care of me on the journey -to London. We used to think him rather a heartless man. We were -quite wrong. I don't know what his plans are for spending the -summer holidays. Go where he may, I remember his kindness; my -best wishes go with him. - -"My dear, I must not sadden your enjoyment of your pleasant visit -to the Engadine, by writing at any length of the sorrow that I am -suffering. You know how I love my aunt, and how gratefully I have -always felt her motherly goodness to me. The doctor does not -conceal the truth. At her age, there is no hope: my father's -last-left relation, my one dearest friend, is dying. - -"No! I must not forget that I have another friend--I must find -some comfort in thinking of _you_. - -"I do so long in my solitude for a letter from my dear Cecilia. -Nobody comes to see me, when I most want sympathy; I am a -stranger in this vast city. The members of my mother's family are -settled in Australia: they have not even written to me, in all -the long years that have passed since her death. You remember how -cheerfully I used to look forward to my new life, on leaving -school? Good-by, my darling. While I can see your sweet face, in -my thoughts, I don't despair--dark as it looks now--of the future -that is before me." - -Emily had closed and addressed her letter, and was just rising -from her chair, when she heard the voice of the new nurse at the -door. - - -CHAPTER XV - -EMILY. - -"May I say a word?" Mrs. Mosey inquired. She entered the -room--pale and trembling. Seeing that ominous change, Emily -dropped back into her chair. - -"Dead?" she said faintly. - -Mrs. Mosey looked at her in vacant surprise. - -"I wish to say, miss, that your aunt has frightened me." - -Even that vague allusion was enough for Emily. - -"You need say no more," she replied. "I know but too well how my -aunt's mind is affected by the fever." - -Confused and frightened as she was, Mrs. Mosey still found relief -in her customary flow of words. - -"Many and many a person have I nursed in fever," she announced. -"Many and many a person have I heard say strange things. Never -yet, miss, in all my experience--!" - -"Don't tell me of it!" Emily interposed. - -"Oh, but I _must_ tell you! In your own interests, Miss Emily--in -your own interests. I won't be inhuman enough to leave you alone -in the house to-night; but if this delirium goes on, I must ask -you to get another nurse. Shocking suspicions are lying in wait -for me in that bedroom, as it were. I can't resist them as I -ought, if I go back again, and hear your aunt saying what she has -been saying for the last half hour and more. Mrs. Ellmother has -expected impossibilities of me; and Mrs. Ellmother must take the -consequences. I don't say she didn't warn me--speaking, you will -please to understand, in the strictest confidence. 'Elizabeth,' -she says, 'you know how wildly people talk in Miss Letitia's -present condition. Pay no heed to it,' she says. 'Let it go in at -one ear and out at the other,' she says. 'If Miss Emily asks -questions--you know nothing about it. If she's frightened--you -know nothing about it. If she bursts into fits of crying that are -dreadful to see, pity her, poor thing, but take no notice.' All -very well, and sounds like speaking out, doesn't it? Nothing of -the sort! Mrs. Ellmother warns me to expect this, that, and the -other. But there is one horrid thing (which I heard, mind, over -and over again at your aunt's bedside) that she does _not_ -prepare me for; and that horrid thing is--Murder!" - -At that last word, Mrs. Mosey dropped her voice to a whisper--and -waited to see what effect she had produced. - -Sorely tried - already by the cruel perplexities of her position, Emily's -courage failed to resist the first sensation of horror, aroused -in her by the climax of the nurse's hysterical narrative. -Encouraged by her silence, Mrs. Mosey went on. She lifted one -hand with theatrical solemnity--and luxuriously terrified herself -with her own horrors. - -"An inn, Miss Emily; a lonely inn, somewhere in the country; and -a comfortless room at the inn, with a makeshift bed at one end of -it, and a makeshift bed at the other--I give you my word of -honor, that was how your aunt put it. She spoke of two men next; -two men asleep (you understand) in the two beds. I think she -called them 'gentlemen'; but I can't be sure, and I wouldn't -deceive you--you know I wouldn't deceive you, for the world. Miss -Letitia muttered and mumbled, poor soul. I own I was getting -tired of listening--when she burst out plain again, in that one -horrid word--Oh, miss, don't be impatient! don't interrupt me!" - -Emily did interrupt, nevertheless. In some degree at least she -had recovered herself. "No more of it!" she said--"I won't hear a -word more." - -But Mrs. Mosey was too resolutely bent on asserting her own -importance, by making the most of the alarm that she had -suffered, to be repressed by any ordinary method of remonstrance. -Without paying the slightest attention to what Emily had said, -she went on again more loudly and more excitably than ever. - -"Listen, miss--listen! The dreadful part of it is to come; you -haven't heard about the two gentlemen yet. One of them was -murdered--what do you think of that!--and the other (I heard your -aunt say it, in so many words) committed the crime. Did Miss -Letitia fancy she was addressing a lot of people when _you_ were -nursing her? She called out, like a person making public -proclamation, when I was in her room. 'Whoever you are, good -people' (she says), 'a hundred pounds reward, if you find the -runaway murderer. Search everywhere for a poor weak womanish -creature, with rings on his little white hands. There's nothing -about him like a man, except his voice--a fine round voice. -You'll know him, my friends--the wretch, the monster--you'll know -him by his voice.' That was how she put it; I tell you again, -that was how she put it. Did you hear her scream? Ah, my dear -young lady, so much the better for you! 'O the horrid murder' -(she says)--'hush it up!' I'll take my Bible oath before the -magistrate," cried Mrs. Mosey, starting out of her chair, "your -aunt said, 'Hush it up!'" - -Emily crossed the room. The energy of her character was roused at -last. She seized the foolish woman by the shoulders, forced her -back in the chair, and looked her straight in the face without -uttering a word. - -For the moment, Mrs. Mosey was petrified. She had fully -expected--having reached the end of her terrible story--to find -Emily at her feet, entreating her not to carry out her intention -of leaving the cottage the next morning; and she had determined, -after her sense of her own importance had been sufficiently -flattered, to grant the prayer of the helpless young lady. Those -were her anticipations--and how had they been fulfilled? She had -been treated like a mad woman in a state of revolt! - -"How dare you assault me?" she asked piteously. "You ought to be -ashamed of yourself. God knows I meant well." - -"You are not the first person," Emily answered, quietly releasing -her, "who has done wrong with the best intentions." - -"I did my duty, miss, when I told you what your aunt said." - -"You forgot your duty when you listened to what my aunt said." - -"Allow me to explain myself." - -"No: not a word more on _that_ subject shall pass between us. -Remain here, if you please; I have something to suggest in your -own interests. Wait, and compose yourself." - -The purpose which had taken a foremost place in Emily's mind -rested on the firm foundation of her love and pity for her aunt. - -Now that she had regained the power to think, she felt a hateful -doubt pressed on her by Mrs. Mosey's disclosures. Having taken -for granted that there was a foundation in truth for what she -herself had heard in her aunt's room, could she reasonably resist -the conclusion that there must be a foundation in truth for what -Mrs. Mosey had heard, under similar circumstances? - -There was but one way of escaping from this dilemma--and Emily -deliberately took it. She turned her back on her own convictions; -and persuaded herself that she had been in the wrong, when she -had attached importance to anything that her aunt had said, under -the influence of delirium. Having adopted this conclusion, she -resolved to face the prospect of a night's solitude by the -death-bed--rather than permit Mrs. Mosey to have a second -opportunity of drawing her own inferences from what she might -hear in Miss Letitia's room. - -"Do you mean to keep me waiting much longer, miss?" - -"Not a moment longer, now you are composed again," Emily -answered. "I have been thinking of what has happened; and I fail -to see any necessity for putting off your departure until the -doctor comes to-morrow morning. There is really no objection to -your leaving me to-night." - -"I beg your pardon, miss; there _is_ an objection. I have already -told you I can't reconcile it to my conscience to leave you here -by yourself. I am not an inhuman woman," said Mrs. Mosey, putting -her handkerchief to her eyes--smitten with pity for herself. - -Emily tried the effect of a conciliatory reply. "I am grateful -for your kindness in offering to stay with me," she said. - -"Very good of you, I'm sure," Mrs. Mosey answered ironically. -"But for all that, you persist in sending me away." - -"I persist in thinking that there is no necessity for my keeping -you here until to-morrow." - -"Oh, have it your own way! I am not reduced to forcing my company -on anybody." - -Mrs. Mosey put her handkerchief in her pocket, and asserted her -dignity. With head erect and slowly-marching steps she walked out -of the room. Emily was left in the cottage, alone with her dying -aunt. - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -MISS JETHRO. - -A fortnight after the disappearance of Mrs. Ellmother, and the -dismissal of Mrs. Mosey, Doctor Allday entered his -consulting-room, punctual to the hour at which he was accustomed -to receive patients. - -An occasional wrinkling of his eyebrows, accompanied by an -intermittent restlessness in his movements, appeared to indicate -some disturbance of this worthy man's professional composure. His -mind was indeed not at ease. Even the inexcitable old doctor had -felt the attraction which had already conquered three such -dissimilar people as Alban Morris, Cecilia Wyvil, and Francine de -Sor. He was thinking of Emily. - -A ring at the door-bell announced the arrival of the first -patient. - -The servant introduced a tall lady, dressed simply and elegantly -in dark apparel. Noticeable features, of a Jewish cast--worn and -haggard, but still preserving their grandeur of form--were -visible through her veil. She moved with grace and dignity; and -she stated her object in consulting Doctor Allday with the ease -of a well-bred woman. - -"I come to ask your opinion, sir, on the state of my heart," she -said; "and I am recommended by a patient, who has consulted you -with advantage to herself." She placed a card on the doctor's -writing-desk, and added: "I have become acquainted with the lady, -by being one of the lodgers in her house." - -The doctor recognized the name--and the usual proceedings ensued. -After careful examination, he arrived at a favorable conclusion. -"I may tell you at once," he said--"there is no reason to be -alarmed about the state of your heart." - -"I have never felt any alarm about myself," she answered quietly. -"A sudden death is an easy death. If one's affairs are settled, -it seems, on that account, to be the death to prefer. My object -was to settle _my_ affairs--such as they are--if you had -considered my life to be in danger. "Is there nothing the matter -with me?" - -"I don't say that," the doctor replied. "The action of your heart -is very feeble. Take the medicine that I shall prescribe; pay a -little more attention to eating and drinking than ladies usually -do; don't run upstairs, and don't fatigue yourself by violent -exercise--and I see no reason wh y you shouldn't live to be an -old woman." - -"God forbid!" the lady said to herself. She turned away, and -looked out of the window with a bitter smile. - -Doctor Allday wrote his prescription. "Are you likely to make a -long stay in London?" he asked. - -"I am here for a little while only. Do you wish to see me again?" - -"I should like to see you once more, before you go away--if you -can make it convenient. What name shall I put on the -prescription?" - -"Miss Jethro." - -"A remarkable name," the doctor said, in his matter-of-fact way. - -Miss Jethro's bitter smile showed itself again. - -Without otherwise noticing what Doctor Allday had said, she laid -the consultation fee on the table. At the same moment, the -footman appeared with a letter. "From Miss Emily Brown," he said. -"No answer required." - -He held the door open as he delivered the message, seeing that -Miss Jethro was about to leave the room. She dismissed him by a -gesture; and, returning to the table, pointed to the letter. - -"Was your correspondent lately a pupil at Miss Ladd's school?" -she inquired. - -"My correspondent has just left Miss Ladd," the doctor answered. -"Are you a friend of hers?" - -"I am acquainted with her." - -"You would be doing the poor child a kindness, if you would go -and see her. She has no friends in London." - -"Pardon me--she has an aunt." - -"Her aunt died a week since." - -"Are there no other relations?" - -"None. A melancholy state of things, isn't it? She would have -been absolutely alone in the house, if I had not sent one of my -women servants to stay with her for the present. Did you know her -father?" - -Miss Jethro passed over the question, as if she had not heard it. -"Has the young lady dismissed her aunt's servants?" she asked. - -"Her aunt kept but one servant, ma'am. The woman has spared Miss -Emily the trouble of dismissing her." He briefly alluded to Mrs. -Ellmother's desertion of her mistress. "I can't explain it," he -said when he had done. "Can _you_?" - -"What makes you think, sir, that I can help you? I have never -even heard of the servant--and the mistress was a stranger to -me." - -At Doctor Allday's age a man is not easily discouraged by -reproof, even when it is administered by a handsome woman. "I -thought you might have known Miss Emily's father," he persisted. - -Miss Jethro rose, and wished him good-morning. "I must not occupy -any more of your valuable time," she said. - -"Suppose you wait a minute?" the doctor suggested. - -Impenetrable as ever, he rang the bell. "Any patients in the -waiting-room?" he inquired. "You see I have time to spare," he -resumed, when the man had replied in the negative. "I take an -interest in this poor girl; and I thought--" - -"If you think that I take an interest in her, too," Miss Jethro -interposed, "you are perfectly right--I knew her father," she -added abruptly; the allusion to Emily having apparently reminded -her of the question which she had hitherto declined to notice. - -"In that case," Doctor Allday proceeded, "I want a word of -advice. Won't you sit down?" - -She took a chair in silence. An irregular movement in the lower -part of her veil seemed to indicate that she was breathing with -difficulty. The doctor observed her with close attention. "Let me -see my prescription again," he said. Having added an ingredient, -he handed it back with a word of explanation. "Your nerves are -more out of order than I supposed. The hardest disease to cure -that I know of is--worry." - -The hint could hardly have been plainer; but it was lost on Miss -Jethro. Whatever her troubles might be, her medical adviser was -not made acquainted with them. Quietly folding up the -prescription, she reminded him that he had proposed to ask her -advice. - -"In what way can I be of service to you?" she inquired. - -"I am afraid I must try your patience," the doctor acknowledged, -"if I am to answer that question plainly." - -With these prefatory words, he described the events that had -followed Mrs. Mosey's appearance at the cottage. "I am only doing -justice to this foolish woman," he continued, "when I tell you -that she came here, after she had left Miss Emily, and did her -best to set matters right. I went to the poor girl directly--and -I felt it my duty, after looking at her aunt, not to leave her -alone for that night. When I got home the next morning, whom do -you think I found waiting for me? Mrs. Ellmother!" - -He stopped--in the expectation that Miss Jethro would express -some surprise. Not a word passed her lips. - -"Mrs. Ellmother's object was to ask how her mistress was going -on," the doctor proceeded. "Every day while Miss Letitia still -lived, she came here to make the same inquiry--without a word of -explanation. On the day of the funeral, there she was at the -church, dressed in deep mourning; and, as I can personally -testify, crying bitterly. When the ceremony was over--can you -believe it?--she slipped away before Miss Emily or I could speak -to her. We have seen nothing more of her, and heard nothing more, -from that time to this." - -He stopped again, the silent lady still listening without making -any remark. - -"Have you no opinion to express?" the doctor asked bluntly. - -"I am waiting," Miss Jethro answered. - -"Waiting--for what?" - -"I haven't heard yet, why you want my advice." - -Doctor Allday's observation of humanity had hitherto reckoned -want of caution among the deficient moral qualities in the -natures of women. He set down Miss Jethro as a remarkable -exception to a general rule. - -"I want you to advise me as to the right course to take with Miss -Emily," he said. "She has assured me she attaches no serious -importance to her aunt's wanderings, when the poor old lady's -fever was at its worst. I don't doubt that she speaks the -truth--but I have my own reasons for being afraid that she is -deceiving herself. Will you bear this in mind?" - -"Yes--if it's necessary." - -"In plain words, Miss Jethro, you think I am still wandering from -the point. I have got to the point. Yesterday, Miss Emily told me -that she hoped to be soon composed enough to examine the papers -left by her aunt." - -Miss Jethro suddenly turned in her chair, and looked at Doctor -Allday. - -"Are you beginning to feel interested?" the doctor asked -mischievously. - -She neither acknowledged nor denied it. "Go on"--was all she -said. - -"I don't know how _you_ feel," he proceeded; "_I_ am afraid of -the discoveries which she may make; and I am strongly tempted to -advise her to leave the proposed examination to her aunt's -lawyer. Is there anything in your knowledge of Miss Emily's late -father, which tells you that I am right?" - -"Before I reply," said Miss Jethro, "it may not be amiss to let -the young lady speak for herself." - -"How is she to do that?" the doctor asked. - -Miss Jethro pointed to the writing table. "Look there," she said. -"You have not yet opened Miss Emily's letter." - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -DOCTOR ALLDAY. - -Absorbed in the effort to overcome his patient's reserve, the -doctor had forgotten Emily's letter. He opened it immediately. - -After reading the first sentence, he looked up with an expression -of annoyance. "She has begun the examination of the papers -already," he said. - -"Then I can be of no further use to you," Miss Jethro rejoined. -She made a second attempt to leave the room. - -Doctor Allday turned to the next page of the letter. "Stop!" he -cried. "She has found something--and here it is." - -He held up a small printed Handbill, which had been placed -between the first and second pages. "Suppose you look at it?" he -said. - -"Whether I am interested in it or not?" Miss Jethro asked. - -"You may be interested in what Miss Emily says about it in her -letter." - -"Do you propose to show me her letter?" - -"I propose to read it to you." - -Miss Jethro took the Handbill without further objection. It was -expressed in these words: - -"MURDER. 100 POUNDS REWARD.--Whereas a murder was committed on -the thirtieth September, 1877, at the Hand-in-Hand Inn, in the -village of Zeeland, Hampshire, the above reward will be paid to -any person or persons whose exertions shall lead to the arrest -and conviction of the suspected murderer. Name not known. -Supposed age, between twenty and thirty years. A well-made man, -of small stature. Fair complexion, delicate features, clear blue -eye s. Hair light, and cut rather short. Clean shaven, with the -exception of narrow half-whiskers. Small, white, well-shaped -hands. Wore valuable rings on the two last fingers of the left -hand. Dressed neatly in a dark-gray tourist-suit. Carried a -knapsack, as if on a pedestrian excursion. Remarkably good voice, -smooth, full, and persuasive. Ingratiating manners. Apply to the -Chief Inspector, Metropolitan Police Office, London." - -Miss Jethro laid aside the Handbill without any visible -appearance of agitation. The doctor took up Emily's letter, and -read as follows: - -"You will be as much relieved as I was, my kind friend, when you -look at the paper inclosed. I found it loose in a blank book, -with cuttings from newspapers, and odd announcements of lost -property and other curious things (all huddled together between -the leaves), which my aunt no doubt intended to set in order and -fix in their proper places. She must have been thinking of her -book, poor soul, in her last illness. Here is the origin of those -'terrible words' which frightened stupid Mrs. Mosey! Is it not -encouraging to have discovered such a confirmation of my opinion -as this? I feel a new interest in looking over the papers that -still remain to be examined--" - -Before he could get to the end of the sentence Miss Jethro's -agitation broke through her reserve. - -"Do what you proposed to do!" she burst out vehemently. "Stop her -at once from carrying her examination any further! If she -hesitates, insist on it!" - -At last Doctor Allday had triumphed! "It has been a long time -coming," he remarked, in his cool way; "and it's all the more -welcome on that account. You dread the discoveries she may make, -Miss Jethro, as I do. And _you_ know what those discoveries may -be." - -"What I do know, or don't know, is of no importance." she -answered sharply. - -"Excuse me, it is of very serious importance. I have no authority -over this poor girl--I am not even an old friend. You tell me to -insist. Help me to declare honestly that I know of circumstances -which justify me; and I may insist to some purpose." - -Miss Jethro lifted her veil for the first time, and eyed him -searchingly. - -"I believe I can trust you," she said. "Now listen! The one -consideration on which I consent to open my lips, is -consideration for Miss Emily's tranquillity. Promise me absolute -secrecy, on your word of honor." - -He gave the promise. - -"I want to know one thing, first," Miss Jethro proceeded. "Did -she tell you--as she once told me--that her father had died of -heart-complaint?" - -"Yes." - -"Did you put any questions to her?" - -"I asked how long ago it was." - -"And she told you?" - -"She told me." - -"You wish to know, Doctor Allday, what discoveries Miss Emily may -yet make, among her aunt's papers. Judge for yourself, when I -tell you that she has been deceived about her father's death." - -"Do you mean that he is still living?" - -"I mean that she has been deceived--purposely deceived--about the -_manner_ of his death." - -"Who was the wretch who did it?" - -"You are wronging the dead, sir! The truth can only have been -concealed out of the purest motives of love and pity. I don't -desire to disguise the conclusion at which I have arrived after -what I have heard from yourself. The person responsible must be -Miss Emily's aunt--and the old servant must have been in her -confidence. Remember! You are bound in honor not to repeat to any -living creature what I have just said." - -The doctor followed Miss Jethro to the door. "You have not yet -told me," he said, "_how_ her father died." - -"I have no more to tell you." - -With those words she left him. - -He rang for his servant. To wait until the hour at which he was -accustomed to go out, might be to leave Emily's peace of mind at -the mercy of an accident. "I am going to the cottage," he said. -"If anybody wants me, I shall be back in a quarter of an hour." - -On the point of leaving the house, he remembered that Emily would -probably expect him to return the Handbill. As he took it up, the -first lines caught his eye: he read the date at which the murder -had been committed, for the second time. On a sudden the ruddy -color left his face. - -"Good God!" he cried, "her father was murdered--and that woman -was concerned in it." - -Following the impulse that urged him, he secured the Handbill in -his pocketbook--snatched up the card which his patient had -presented as her introduction--and instantly left the house. He -called the first cab that passed him, and drove to Miss Jethro's -lodgings. - -"Gone"--was the servant's answer when he inquired for her. He -insisted on speaking to the landlady. "Hardly ten minutes have -passed," he said, "since she left my house." - -"Hardly ten minutes have passed," the landlady replied, "since -that message was brought here by a boy." - -The message had been evidently written in great haste: "I am -unexpectedly obliged to leave London. A bank note is inclosed in -payment of my debt to you. I will send for my luggage." - -The doctor withdrew. - -"Unexpectedly obliged to leave London," he repeated, as he got -into the cab again. "Her flight condemns her: not a doubt of it -now. As fast as you can!" he shouted to the man; directing him to -drive to Emily's cottage. - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -MISS LADD. - -Arriving at the cottage, Doctor Allday discovered a gentleman, -who was just closing the garden gate behind him. - -"Has Miss Emily had a visitor?" he inquired, when the servant -admitted him. - -"The gentleman left a letter for Miss Emily, sir." - -"Did he ask to see her?" - -"He asked after Miss Letitia's health. When he heard that she was -dead, he seemed to be startled, and went away immediately." - -"Did he give his name?" - -"No, sir." - -The doctor found Emily absorbed over her letter. His anxiety to -forestall any possible discovery of the deception which had -concealed the terrible story of her father's death, kept Doctor -Allday's vigilance on the watch. He doubted the gentleman who had -abstained from giving his name; he even distrusted the other -unknown person who had written to Emily. - -She looked up. Her face relieved him of his misgivings, before -she could speak. - -"At last, I have heard from my dearest friend," she said. "You -remember what I told you about Cecilia? Here is a letter--a long -delightful letter--from the Engadine, left at the door by some -gentleman unknown. I was questioning the servant when you rang -the bell." - -"You may question me, if you prefer it. I arrived just as the -gentleman was shutting your garden gate." - -"Oh, tell me! what was he like?" - -"Tall, and thin, and dark. Wore a vile republican-looking felt -hat. Had nasty ill-tempered wrinkles between his eyebrows. The -sort of man I distrust by instinct." - -"Why?" - -"Because he doesn't shave." - -"Do you mean that he wore a beard?" - -"Yes; a curly black beard." - -Emily clasped her hands in amazement. "Can it be Alban Morris?" -she exclaimed. - -The doctor looked at her with a sardonic smile; he thought it -likely that he had discovered her sweetheart. - -"Who is Mr. Alban Morris?" he asked. - -"The drawing-master at Miss Ladd's school." - -Doctor Allday dropped the subject: masters at ladies' schools -were not persons who interested him. He returned to the purpose -which had brought him to the cottage--and produced the Handbill -that had been sent to him in Emily's letter. - -"I suppose you want to have it back again?' he said. - -She took it from him, and looked at it with interest. - -"Isn't it strange," she suggested, "that the murderer should have -escaped, with such a careful description of him as this -circulated all over England?" - -She read the description to the doctor. - -"'Name not known. Supposed age, between twenty-five and thirty -years. A well-made man, of small stature. Fair complexion, -delicate features, clear blue eyes. Hair light, and cut rather -short. Clean shaven, with the exception of narrow half-whiskers. -Small, white, well-shaped hands. Wore valuable rings on the two -last fingers of the left hand. Dressed neatly--'" - -"That part of the description is useless," the doctor remarked; -"he would change his clothes." - -"But could he change his voice?" Emily objected. "Listen to this: -'Remarkably good voice, smooth, full, and persuasive.' And here -again! 'Ingratiating manners.' Perhaps you will say he could put -on an appearance of rudeness?" - -"I will say this, my dear. He would be able to disguise himself -so effectually that ninety-nine people out of a hundred would -fail to identify him, either by his voice or his manner." - -"How?" - -"Look back at the description: 'Hair cut rather short, clean -shaven, with the exception of narrow half-whiskers.' The wretch -was safe from pursuit; he had ample time at his disposal--don't -you see how he could completely alter the appearance of his head -and face? No more, my dear, of this disagreeable subject! Let us -get to something interesting. Have you found anything else among -your aunt's papers?" - -"I have met with a great disappointment," Emily replied. "Did I -tell you how I discovered the Handbill?" - -"No." - -"I found it, with the scrap-book and the newspaper cuttings, -under a collection of empty boxes and bottles, in a drawer of the -washhand-stand. And I naturally expected to make far more -interesting discoveries in this room. My search was over in five -minutes. Nothing in the cabinet there, in the corner, but a few -books and some china. Nothing in the writing-desk, on that -side-table, but a packet of note-paper and some sealing-wax. -Nothing here, in the drawers, but tradesmen's receipts, materials -for knitting, and old photographs. She must have destroyed all -her papers, poor dear, before her last illness; and the Handbill -and the other things can only have escaped, because they were -left in a place which she never thought of examining. Isn't it -provoking?" - -With a mind inexpressibly relieved, good Doctor Allday asked -permission to return to his patients: leaving Emily to devote -herself to her friend's letter. - -On his way out, he noticed that the door of the bed-chamber on -the opposite side of the passage stood open. Since Miss Letitia's -death the room had not been used. Well within view stood the -washhand-stand to which Emily had alluded. The doctor advanced to -the house door--reflected--hesitated--and looked toward the empty -room. - -It had struck him that there might be a second drawer which Emily -had overlooked. Would he be justified in setting this doubt at -rest? If he passed over ordinary scruples it would not be without -excuse. Miss Letitia had spoken to him of her affairs, and had -asked him to act (in Emily's interest) as co-executor with her -lawyer. The rapid progress of the illness had made it impossible -for her to execute the necessary codicil. But the doctor had been -morally (if not legally) taken into her confidence--and, for that -reason, he decided that he had a right in this serious matter to -satisfy his own mind. - -A glance was enough to show him that no second drawer had been -overlooked. - -There was no other discovery to detain the doctor. The wardrobe -only contained the poor old lady's clothes; the one cupboard was -open and empty. On the point of leaving the room, he went back to -the washhand-stand. While he had the opportunity, it might not be -amiss to make sure that Emily had thoroughly examined those old -boxes and bottles, which she had alluded to with some little -contempt. - -The drawer was of considerable length. When he tried to pull it -completely out from the grooves in which it ran, it resisted him. -In his present frame of mind, this was a suspicious circumstance -in itself. He cleared away the litter so as to make room for the -introduction of his hand and arm into the drawer. In another -moment his fingers touched a piece of paper, jammed between the -inner end of the drawer and the bottom of the flat surface of the -washhand-stand. With a little care, he succeeded in extricating -the paper. Only pausing to satisfy himself that there was nothing -else to be found, and to close the drawer after replacing its -contents, he left the cottage. - -The cab was waiting for him. On the drive back to his own house, -he opened the crumpled paper. It proved to be a letter addressed -to Miss Letitia; and it was signed by no less a person than -Emily's schoolmistress. Looking back from the end to the -beginning, Doctor Allday discovered, in the first sentence, the -name of--Miss Jethro. - -But for the interview of that morning with his patient he might -have doubted the propriety of making himself further acquainted -with the letter. As things were, he read it without hesitation. - -"DEAR MADAM--I cannot but regard it as providential circumstance -that your niece, in writing to you from my house, should have -mentioned, among other events of her school life, the arrival of -my new teacher, Miss Jethro. - -"To say that I was surprised is to express very inadequately what -I felt when I read your letter, informing me confidentially that -I had employed a woman who was unworthy to associate with the -young persons placed under my care. It is impossible for me to -suppose that a lady in your position, and possessed of your high -principles, would make such a serious accusation as this, without -unanswerable reasons for doing so. At the same time I cannot, -consistently with my duty as a Christian, suffer my opinion of -Miss Jethro to be in any way modified, until proofs are laid -before me which it is impossible to dispute. - -"Placing the same confidence in your discretion, which you have -placed in mine, I now inclose the references and testimonials -which Miss Jethro submitted to me, when she presented herself to -fill the vacant situation in my school. - -"I earnestly request you to lose no time in instituting the -confidential inquiries which you have volunteered to make. -Whatever the result may be, pray return to me the inclosures -which I have trusted to your care, and believe me, dear madam, in -much suspense and anxiety, sincerely yours, - - AMELIA LADD." - - -It is needless to describe, at any length, the impression which -these lines produced on the doctor. - -If he had heard what Emily had heard at the time of her aunt's -last illness, he would have called to mind Miss Letitia's -betrayal of her interest in some man unknown, whom she believed -to have been beguiled by Miss Jethro--and he would have perceived -that the vindictive hatred, thus produced, must have inspired the -letter of denunciation which the schoolmistress had acknowledged. -He would also have inferred that Miss Letitia's inquiries had -proved her accusation to be well founded--if he had known of the -new teacher's sudden dismissal from the school. As things were, -he was merely confirmed in his bad opinion of Miss Jethro; and he -was induced, on reflection, to keep his discovery to himself. - -"If poor Miss Emily saw the old lady exhibited in the character -of an informer," he thought, "what a blow would be struck at her -innocent respect for the memory of her aunt!" - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -SIR JERVIS REDWOOD. - -In the meantime, Emily, left by herself, had her own -correspondence to occupy her attention. Besides the letter from -Cecilia (directed to the care of Sir Jervis Redwood), she had -received some lines addressed to her by Sir Jervis himself. The -two inclosures had been secured in a sealed envelope, directed to -the cottage. - -If Alban Morris had been indeed the person trusted as messenger -by Sir Jervis, the conclusion that followed filled Emily with -overpowering emotions of curiosity and surprise. - -Having no longer the motive of serving and protecting her, Alban -must, nevertheless, have taken the journey to Northumberland. He -must have gained Sir Jervis Redwood's favor and confidence--and -he might even have been a guest at the baronet's country -seat--when Cecilia's letter arrived. What did it mean? - -Emily looked back at her experience of her last day at school, -and recalled her consultation with Alban on the subject of Mrs. -Rook. Was he still bent on clearing up his suspicions of Sir -Jervis's housekeeper? And, with that end in view, had he followed -the woman, on her return to her master's place of abode? - -Suddenly, almost irritably, Emily snatched up Sir Jervis's -letter. Before the doctor had come in, she had glanced at it, and -had thrown it aside in her impatience to read what Cecilia had -written. In her present altered frame of mind, she was inclined -to think that Sir Jervis might be the more interesting -correspondent of the two. - -On - returning to his letter, she was disappointed at the outset. - -In the first place, his handwriting was so abominably bad that -she was obliged to guess at his meaning. In the second place, he -never hinted at the circumstances under which Cecilia's letter -had been confided to the gentleman who had left it at her door. - -She would once more have treated the baronet's communication with -contempt--but for the discovery that it contained an offer of -employment in London, addressed to herself. - -Sir Jervis had necessarily been obliged to engage another -secretary in Emily's absence. But he was still in want of a -person to serve his literary interests in London. He had reason -to believe that discoveries made by modern travelers in Central -America had been reported from time to time by the English press; -and he wished copies to be taken of any notices of this sort -which might be found, on referring to the files of newspapers -kept in the reading-room of the British Museum. If Emily -considered herself capable of contributing in this way to the -completeness of his great work on "the ruined cities," she had -only to apply to his bookseller in London, who would pay her the -customary remuneration and give her every assistance of which she -might stand in need. The bookseller's name and address followed -(with nothing legible but the two words "Bond Street"), and there -was an end of Sir Jervis's proposal. - -Emily laid it aside, deferring her answer until she had read -Cecilia's letter. - - -CHAPTER XX. - -THE REVEREND MILES MIRABEL. - -"I am making a little excursion from the Engadine, my dearest of -all dear friends. Two charming fellow-travelers take care of me; -and we may perhaps get as far as the Lake of Como. - -"My sister (already much improved in health) remains at St. -Moritz with the old governess. The moment I know what exact -course we are going to take, I shall write to Julia to forward -any letters which arrive in my absence. My life, in this earthly -paradise, will be only complete when I hear from my darling -Emily. - -"In the meantime, we are staying for the night at some -interesting place, the name of which I have unaccountably -forgotten; and here I am in my room, writing to you at -last--dying to know if Sir Jervis has yet thrown himself at your -feet, and offered to make you Lady Redwood with magnificent -settlements. - -"But you are waiting to hear who my new friends are. My dear, one -of them is, next to yourself, the most delightful creature in -existence. Society knows her as Lady Janeaway. I love her -already, by her Christian name; she is my friend Doris. And she -reciprocates my sentiments. - -"You will now understand that union of sympathies made us -acquainted with each other. - -"If there is anything in me to be proud of, I think it must be my -admirable appetite. And, if I have a passion, the name of it is -Pastry. Here again, Lady Doris reciprocates my sentiments. We sit -next to each other at the _table d'hote_. - -"Good heavens, I have forgotten her husband! They have been -married rather more than a month. Did I tell you that she is just -two years older than I am? - -"I declare I am forgetting him again! He is Lord Janeaway. Such a -quiet modest man, and so easily amused. He carries with him -everywhere a dirty little tin case, with air holes in the cover. -He goes softly poking about among bushes and brambles, and under -rocks, and behind old wooden houses. When he has caught some -hideous insect that makes one shudder, he blushes with pleasure, -and looks at his wife and me, and says, with the prettiest lisp: -'This is what I call enjoying the day.' To see the manner in -which he obeys Her is, between ourselves, to feel proud of being -a woman. - -"Where was I? Oh, at the _table d'hote_. - -"Never, Emily--I say it with a solemn sense of the claims of -truth--never have I eaten such an infamous, abominable, -maddeningly bad dinner, as the dinner they gave us on our first -day at the hotel. I ask you if I am not patient; I appeal to your -own recollection of occasions when I have exhibited extraordinary -self-control. My dear, I held out until they brought the pastry -round. I took one bite, and committed the most shocking offense -against good manners at table that you can imagine. My -handkerchief, my poor innocent handkerchief, received the -horrid--please suppose the rest. My hair stands on end, when I -think of it. Our neighbors at the table saw me. The coarse men -laughed. The sweet young bride, sincerely feeling for me, said, -'Will you allow me to shake hands? I did exactly what you have -done the day before yesterday.' Such was the beginning of my -friendship with Lady Doris Janeaway. - -"We are two resolute women--I mean that _she_ is resolute, and -that I follow her--and we have asserted our right of dining to -our own satisfaction, by means of an interview with the chief -cook. - -"This interesting person is an ex-Zouave in the French army. -Instead of making excuses, he confessed that the barbarous tastes -of the English and American visitors had so discouraged him, that -he had lost all pride and pleasure in the exercise of his art. As -an example of what he meant, he mentioned his experience of two -young Englishmen who could speak no foreign language. The waiters -reported that they objected to their breakfasts, and especially -to the eggs. Thereupon (to translate the Frenchman's own way of -putting it) he exhausted himself in exquisite preparations of -eggs. _Eggs a la tripe, au gratin, a l'Aurore, a la Dauphine, a -la Poulette, a la Tartare, a la Venitienne, a la Bordelaise_, and -so on, and so on. Still the two young gentlemen were not -satisfied. The ex-Zouave, infuriated; wounded in his honor, -disgraced as a professor, insisted on an explanation. What, in -heaven's name, _did_ they want for breakfast? They wanted boiled -eggs; and a fish which they called a _Bloaterre_. It was -impossible, he said, to express his contempt for the English idea -of a breakfast, in the presence of ladies. You know how a cat -expresses herself in the presence of a dog--and you will -understand the allusion. Oh, Emily, what dinners we have had, in -our own room, since we spoke to that noble cook! - -"Have I any more news to send you? Are you interested, my dear, -in eloquent young clergymen? - -"On our first appearance at the public table we noticed a -remarkable air of depression among the ladies. Had some -adventurous gentleman tried to climb a mountain, and failed? Had -disastrous political news arrived from England; a defeat of the -Conservatives, for instance? Had a revolution in the fashions -broken out in Paris, and had all our best dresses become of no -earthly value to us? I applied for information to the only lady -present who shone on the company with a cheerful face--my friend -Doris, of course. "'What day was yesterday?' she asked. - -"'Sunday,' I answered. - -"'Of all melancholy Sundays,' she continued, the most melancholy -in the calendar. Mr. Miles Mirabel preached his farewell sermon, -in our temporary chapel upstairs.' - -"'And you have not recovered it yet?' - -"'We are all heart-broken, Miss Wyvil.' - -"This naturally interested me. I asked what sort of sermons Mr. -Mirabel preached. Lady Janeaway said: 'Come up to our room after -dinner. The subject is too distressing to be discussed in -public.' - -"She began by making me personally acquainted with the reverend -gentleman--that is to say, she showed me the photographic -portraits of him. They were two in number. One only presented his -face. The other exhibited him at full length, adorned in his -surplice. Every lady in the congregation had received the two -photographs as a farewell present. 'My portraits,' Lady Doris -remarked, 'are the only complete specimens. The others have been -irretrievably ruined by tears.' - -"You will now expect a personal description of this fascinating -man. What the photographs failed to tell me, my friend was so -kind as to complete from the resources of her own experience. -Here is the result presented to the best of my ability. - -"He is young--not yet thirty years of age. His complexion is -fair; his features are delicate, his eyes are clear blue. He has -pretty hands, and rings prettier still. And such a voice, and -such manners! You will say there are plen ty of pet parsons who -answer to this description. Wait a little--I have kept his chief -distinction till the last. His beautiful light hair flows in -profusion over his shoulders; and his glossy beard waves, at -apostolic length, down to the lower buttons of his waistcoat. - -"What do you think of the Reverend Miles Mirabel now? - -"The life and adventures of our charming young clergyman, bear -eloquent testimony to the saintly patience of his disposition, -under trials which would have overwhelmed an ordinary man. (Lady -Doris, please notice, quotes in this place the language of his -admirers; and I report Lady Doris.) - -"He has been clerk in a lawyer's office--unjustly dismissed. He -has given readings from Shakespeare--infamously neglected . He -has been secretary to a promenade concert company--deceived by a -penniless manager. He has been employed in negotiations for -making foreign railways--repudiated by an unprincipled -Government. He has been translator to a publishing -house--declared incapable by envious newspapers and reviews. He -has taken refuge in dramatic criticism--dismissed by a corrupt -editor. Through all these means of purification for the priestly -career, he passed at last into the one sphere that was worthy of -him: he entered the Church, under the protection of influential -friends. Oh, happy change! From that moment his labors have been -blessed. Twice already he has been presented with silver tea-pots -filled with sovereigns. Go where he may, precious sympathies -environ him; and domestic affection places his knife and fork at -innumerable family tables. After a continental career, which will -leave undying recollections, he is now recalled to England--at -the suggestion of a person of distinction in the Church, who -prefers a mild climate. It will now be his valued privilege to -represent an absent rector in a country living; remote from -cities, secluded in pastoral solitude, among simple breeders of -sheep. May the shepherd prove worthy of the flock! - -"Here again, my dear, I must give the merit where the merit is -due. This memoir of Mr. Mirabel is not of my writing. It formed -part of his farewell sermon, preserved in the memory of Lady -Doris--and it shows (once more in the language of his admirers) -that the truest humility may be found in the character of the -most gifted man. - -"Let me only add, that you will have opportunities of seeing and -hearing this popular preacher, when circumstances permit him to -address congregations in the large towns. I am at the end of my -news; and I begin to feel--after this long, long letter--that it -is time to go to bed. Need I say that I have often spoken of you -to Doris, and that she entreats you to be her friend as well as -mine, when we meet again in England? - -"Good-by, darling, for the present. With fondest love, - Your CECILIA." - -"P.S.--I have formed a new habit. In case of feeling hungry in -the night, I keep a box of chocolate under the pillow. You have -no idea what a comfort it is. If I ever meet with the man who -fulfills my ideal, I shall make it a condition of the marriage -settlement, that I am to have chocolate under the pillow." - - -CHAPTER XXI - -POLLY AND SALLY. - -Without a care to trouble her; abroad or at home, finding -inexhaustible varieties of amusement; seeing new places, making -new acquaintances--what a disheartening contrast did Cecilia's -happy life present to the life of her friend! Who, in Emily's -position, could have read that joyously-written letter from -Switzerland, and not have lost heart and faith, for the moment at -least, as the inevitable result? - -A buoyant temperament is of all moral qualities the most -precious, in this respect; it is the one force in us--when -virtuous resolution proves insufficient--which resists by -instinct the stealthy approaches of despair. "I shall only cry," -Emily thought, "if I stay at home; better go out." - -Observant persons, accustomed to frequent the London parks, can -hardly have failed to notice the number of solitary strangers -sadly endeavoring to vary their lives by taking a walk. They -linger about the flower-beds; they sit for hours on the benches; -they look with patient curiosity at other people who have -companions; they notice ladies on horseback and children at play, -with submissive interest; some of the men find company in a pipe, -without appearing to enjoy it; some of the women find a -substitute for dinner, in little dry biscuits wrapped in crumpled -scraps of paper; they are not sociable; they are hardly ever seen -to make acquaintance with each other; perhaps they are -shame-faced, or proud, or sullen; perhaps they despair of others, -being accustomed to despair of themselves; perhaps they have -their reasons for never venturing to encounter curiosity, or -their vices which dread detection, or their virtues which suffer -hardship with the resignation that is sufficient for itself. The -one thing certain is, that these unfortunate people resist -discovery. We know that they are strangers in London--and we know -no more. - -And Emily was one of them. - -Among the other forlorn wanderers in the Parks, there appeared -latterly a trim little figure in black (with the face protected -from notice behind a crape veil), which was beginning to be -familiar, day after day, to nursemaids and children, and to rouse -curiosity among harmless solitaries meditating on benches, and -idle vagabonds strolling over the grass. The woman-servant, whom -the considerate doctor had provided, was the one person in -Emily's absence left to take care of the house. There was no -other creature who could be a companion to the friendless girl. -Mrs. Ellmother had never shown herself again since the funeral. -Mrs. Mosey could not forget that she had been (no matter how -politely) requested to withdraw. To whom could Emily say, "Let us -go out for a walk?" She had communicated the news of her aunt's -death to Miss Ladd, at Brighton; and had heard from Francine. The -worthy schoolmistress had written to her with the truest -kindness. "Choose your own time, my poor child, and come and stay -with me at Brighton; the sooner the better." Emily shrank--not -from accepting the invitation--but from encountering Francine. -The hard West Indian heiress looked harder than ever with a pen -in her hand. Her letter announced that she was "getting on -wretchedly with her studies (which she hated); she found the -masters appointed to instruct her ugly and disagreeable (and -loathed the sight of them); she had taken a dislike to Miss Ladd -(and time only confirmed that unfavorable impression); Brighton -was always the same; the sea was always the same; the drives were -always the same. Francine felt a presentiment that she should do -something desperate, unless Emily joined her, and made Brighton -endurable behind the horrid schoolmistress's back." Solitude in -London was a privilege and a pleasure, viewed as the alternative -to such companionship as this. - -Emily wrote gratefully to Miss Ladd, and asked to be excused. - -Other days had passed drearily since that time; but the one day -that had brought with it Cecilia's letter set past happiness and -present sorrow together so vividly and so cruelly that Emily's -courage sank. She had forced back the tears, in her lonely home; -she had gone out to seek consolation and encouragement under the -sunny sky--to find comfort for her sore heart in the radiant -summer beauty of flowers and grass, in the sweet breathing of the -air, in the happy heavenward soaring of the birds. No! Mother -Nature is stepmother to the sick at heart. Soon, too soon, she -could hardly see where she went. Again and again she resolutely -cleared her eyes, under the shelter of her veil, when passing -strangers noticed her; and again and again the tears found their -way back. Oh, if the girls at the school were to see her now--the -girls who used to say in their moments of sadness, "Let us go to -Emily and be cheered"--would they know her again? She sat down to -rest and recover herself on the nearest bench. It was unoccupied. -No passing footsteps were audible on the remote path to which she -had strayed. Solitude at home! Solitude in the Park! Where was -Cecilia at that moment? In Italy, among the lake s and mountains, -happy in the company of her light-hearted friend. - -The lonely interval passed, and persons came near. Two sisters, -girls like herself, stopped to rest on the bench. - -They were full of their own interests; they hardly looked at the -stranger in mourning garments. The younger sister was to be -married, and the elder was to be bridesmaid. They talked of their -dresses and their presents; they compared the dashing bridegroom -of one with the timid lover of the other; they laughed over their -own small sallies of wit, over their joyous dreams of the future, -over their opinions of the guests invited to the wedding. Too -joyfully restless to remain inactive any longer, they jumped up -again from the seat. One of them said, "Polly, I'm too happy!" -and danced as she walked away. The other cried, "Sally, for -shame!" and laughed, as if she had hit on the most irresistible -joke that ever was made. - -Emily rose and went home. - -By some mysterious influence which she was unable to trace, the -boisterous merriment of the two girls had roused in her a sense -of revolt against the life that she was leading. Change, speedy -change, to some occupation that would force her to exert herself, -presented the one promise of brighter days that she could see. To -feel this was to be inevitably reminded of Sir Jervis Redwood. -Here was a man, who had never seen her, transformed by the -incomprehensible operation of Chance into the friend of whom she -stood in need--the friend who pointed the way to a new world of -action, the busy world of readers in the library of the Museum. - -Early in the new week, Emily had accepted Sir Jervis's proposal, -and had so interested the bookseller to whom she had been -directed to apply, that he took it on himself to modify the -arbitrary instructions of his employer. - -"The old gentleman has no mercy on himself, and no mercy on -others," he explained, "where his literary labors are concerned. -You must spare yourself, Miss Emily. It is not only absurd, it's -cruel, to expect you to ransack old newspapers for discoveries in -Yucatan, from the time when Stephens published his 'Travels in -Central America'--nearly forty years since! Begin with back -numbers published within a few years--say five years from the -present date--and let us see what your search over that interval -will bring forth." - -Accepting this friendly advice, Emily began with the -newspaper-volume dating from New Year's Day, 1876. - -The first hour of her search strengthened the sincere sense of -gratitude with which she remembered the bookseller's kindness. To -keep her attention steadily fixed on the one subject that -interested her employer, and to resist the temptation to read -those miscellaneous items of news which especially interest -women, put her patience and resolution to a merciless test. -Happily for herself, her neighbors on either side were no idlers. -To see them so absorbed over their work that they never once -looked at her, after the first moment when she took her place -between them, was to find exactly the example of which she stood -most in need. As the hours wore on, she pursued her weary way, -down one column and up another, resigned at least (if not quite -reconciled yet) to her task. Her labors ended, for the day, with -such encouragement as she might derive from the conviction of -having, thus far, honestly pursued a useless search. - -News was waiting for her when she reached home, which raised her -sinking spirits. - -On leaving the cottage that morning she had given certain -instructions, relating to the modest stranger who had taken -charge of her correspondence--in case of his paying a second -visit, during her absence at the Museum. The first words spoken -by the servant, on opening the door, informed her that the -unknown gentleman had called again. This time he had boldly left -his card. There was the welcome name that she had expected to -see--Alban Morris. - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -ALBAN MORRIS. - -Having looked at the card, Emily put her first question to the -servant. - -"Did you tell Mr. Morris what your orders were?" she asked. - -"Yes, miss; I said I was to have shown him in, if you had been at -home. Perhaps I did wrong; I told him what you told me when you -went out this morning--I said you had gone to read at the -Museum." - -"What makes you think you did wrong?" - -"Well, miss, he didn't say anything, but he looked upset." - -"Do you mean that he looked angry?" - -The servant shook her head. "Not exactly angry--puzzled and put -out." - -"Did he leave any message?" - -"He said he would call later, if you would be so good as to -receive him." - -In half an hour more, Alban and Emily were together again. The -light fell full on her face as she rose to receive him. - -"Oh, how you have suffered!" - -The words escaped him before he could restrain himself. He looked -at her with the tender sympathy, so precious to women, which she -had not seen in the face of any human creature since the loss of -her aunt. Even the good doctor's efforts to console her had been -efforts of professional routine--the inevitable result of his -life-long familiarity with sorrow and death. While Alban's eyes -rested on her, Emily felt her tears rising. In the fear that he -might misinterpret her reception of him, she made an effort to -speak with some appearance of composure. - -"I lead a lonely life," she said; "and I can well understand that -my face shows it. You are one of my very few friends, Mr. -Morris"--the tears rose again; it discouraged her to see him -standing irresolute, with his hat in his hand, fearful of -intruding on her. "Indeed, indeed, you are welcome," she said, -very earnestly. - -In those sad days her heart was easily touched. She gave him her -hand for the second time. He held it gently for a moment. Every -day since they had parted she had been in his thoughts; she had -become dearer to him than ever. He was too deeply affected to -trust himself to answer. That silence pleaded for him as nothing -had pleaded for him yet. In her secret self she remembered with -wonder how she had received his confession in the school garden. -It was a little hard on him, surely, to have forbidden him even -to hope. - -Conscious of her own weakness--even while giving way to it--she -felt the necessity of turning his attention from herself. In some -confusion, she pointed to a chair at her side, and spoke of his -first visit, when he had left her letters at the door. Having -confided to him all that she had discovered, and all that she had -guessed, on that occasion, it was by an easy transition that she -alluded next to the motive for his journey to the North. - -"I thought it might be suspicion of Mrs. Rook," she said. "Was I -mistaken?" - -"No; you were right." - -"They were serious suspicions, I suppose?" - -"Certainly! I should not otherwise have devoted my holiday-time -to clearing them up." - -"May I know what they were?" - -"I am sorry to disappoint you," he began. - -"But you would rather not answer my question," she interposed. - -"I would rather hear you tell me if you have made any other -guess." - -"One more, Mr. Morris. I guessed that you had become acquainted -with Sir Jervis Redwood." - -"For the second time, Miss Emily, you have arrived at a sound -conclusion. My one hope of finding opportunities for observing -Sir Jervis's housekeeper depended on my chance of gaining -admission to Sir Jervis's house." - -"How did you succeed? Perhaps you provided yourself with a letter -of introduction?" - -"I knew nobody who could introduce me," Alban replied. "As the -event proved, a letter would have been needless. Sir Jervis -introduced himself--and, more wonderful still, he invited me to -his house at our first interview." - -"Sir Jervis introduced himself?" Emily repeated, in amazement. -"From Cecilia's description of him, I should have thought he was -the last person in the world to do that!" - -Alban smiled. "And you would like to know how it happened?" he -suggested. - -"The very favor I was going to ask of you," she replied. - -Instead of at once complying with her wishes, he -paused--hesitated--and made a strange request. "Will you forgive -my rudeness, if I ask leave to walk up and down the room while I -talk? I am a restless man. Walking up and down helps me to -express myself freely." - -Her f ace brightened for the first time. "How like You that is!" -she exclaimed. - -Alban looked at her with surprise and delight. She had betrayed -an interest in studying his character, which he appreciated at -its full value. "I should never have dared to hope," he said, -"that you knew me so well already." - -"You are forgetting your story," she reminded him. - -He moved to the opposite side of the room, where there were fewer -impediments in the shape of furniture. With his head down, and -his hands crossed behind him, he paced to and fro. Habit made him -express himself in his usual quaint way--but he became -embarrassed as he went on. Was he disturbed by his recollections? -or by the fear of taking Emily into his confidence too freely? - -"Different people have different ways of telling a story," he -said. "Mine is the methodical way--I begin at the beginning. We -will start, if you please, in the railway--we will proceed in a -one-horse chaise--and we will stop at a village, situated in a -hole. It was the nearest place to Sir Jervis's house, and it was -therefore my destination. I picked out the biggest of the -cottages--I mean the huts--and asked the woman at the door if she -had a bed to let. She evidently thought me either mad or drunk. I -wasted no time in persuasion; the right person to plead my cause -was asleep in her arms. I began by admiring the baby; and I ended -by taking the baby's portrait. From that moment I became a member -of the family--the member who had his own way. Besides the room -occupied by the husband and wife, there was a sort of kennel in -which the husband's brother slept. He was dismissed (with five -shillings of mine to comfort him) to find shelter somewhere else; -and I was promoted to the vacant place. It is my misfortune to be -tall. When I went to bed, I slept with my head on the pillow, and -my feet out of the window. Very cool and pleasant in summer -weather. The next morning, I set my trap for Sir Jervis." - -"Your trap?" Emily repeated, wondering what he meant. - -"I went out to sketch from Nature," Alban continued. "Can anybody -(with or without a title, I don't care), living in a lonely -country house, see a stranger hard at work with a color-box and -brushes, and not stop to look at what he is doing? Three days -passed, and nothing happened. I was quite patient; the grand open -country all round me offered lessons of inestimable value in what -we call aerial perspective. On the fourth day, I was absorbed -over the hardest of all hard tasks in landscape art, studying the -clouds straight from Nature. The magnificent moorland silence was -suddenly profaned by a man's voice, speaking (or rather croaking) -behind me. 'The worst curse of human life,' the voice said, 'is -the detestable necessity of taking exercise. I hate losing my -time; I hate fine scenery; I hate fresh air; I hate a pony. Go -on, you brute!' Being too deeply engaged with the clouds to look -round, I had supposed this pretty speech to be addressed to some -second person. Nothing of the sort; the croaking voice had a -habit of speaking to itself. In a minute more, there came within -my range of view a solitary old man, mounted on a rough pony." - -"Was it Sir Jervis?" - -Alban hesitated. - -"It looked more like the popular notion of the devil," he said. - -"Oh, Mr. Morris!" - -"I give you my first impression, Miss Emily, for what it is -worth. He had his high-peaked hat in his hand, to keep his head -cool. His wiry iron-gray hair looked like hair standing on end; -his bushy eyebrows curled upward toward his narrow temples; his -horrid old globular eyes stared with a wicked brightness; his -pointed beard hid his chin; he was covered from his throat to his -ankles in a loose black garment, something between a coat and a -cloak; and, to complete him, he had a club foot. I don't doubt -that Sir Jervis Redwood is the earthly alias which he finds -convenient--but I stick to that first impression which appeared -to surprise you. 'Ha! an artist; you seem to be the sort of man I -want!' In those terms he introduced himself. Observe, if you -please, that my trap caught him the moment he came my way. Who -wouldn't be an artist?" - -"Did he take a liking to you?" Emily inquired. - -"Not he! I don't believe he ever took a liking to anybody in his -life." - -"Then how did you get your invitation to his house?" - -"That's the amusing part of it, Miss Emily. Give me a little -breathing time, and you shall hear." - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -MISS REDWOOD. - -"I got invited to Sir Jervis's house," Alban resumed, "by -treating the old savage as unceremoniously as he had treated me. -'That's an idle trade of yours,' he said, looking at my sketch. -'Other ignorant people have made the same remark,' I answered. He -rode away, as if he was not used to be spoken to in that manner, -and then thought better of it, and came back. 'Do you understand -wood engraving?' he asked. 'Yes.' 'And etching?' 'I have -practiced etching myself.' 'Are you a Royal Academician?' 'I'm a -drawing-master at a ladies' school.' 'Whose school?' 'Miss -Ladd's.' 'Damn it, you know the girl who ought to have been my -secretary.' I am not quite sure whether you will take it as a -compliment--Sir Jervis appeared to view you in the light of a -reference to my respectability. At any rate, he went on with his -questions. 'How long do you stop in these parts?' 'I haven't made -up my mind.' 'Look here; I want to consult you--are you -listening?' 'No; I'm sketching.' He burst into a horrid scream. I -asked if he felt himself taken ill. 'Ill?' he said--'I'm -laughing.' It was a diabolical laugh, in one syllable--not 'ha! -ha! ha!' only 'ha!'--and it made him look wonderfully like that -eminent person, whom I persist in thinking he resembles. 'You're -an impudent dog,' he said; 'where are you living?' He was so -delighted when he heard of my uncomfortable position in the -kennel-bedroom, that he offered his hospitality on the spot. 'I -can't go to you in such a pigstye as that,' he said; 'you must -come to me. What's your name?' 'Alban Morris; what's yours?' -'Jervis Redwood. Pack up your traps when you've done your job, -and come and try my kennel. There it is, in a corner of your -drawing, and devilish like, too.' I packed up my traps, and I -tried his kennel. And now you have had enough of Sir Jervis -Redwood." - -"Not half enough!" Emily answered. "Your story leaves off just at -the interesting moment. I want you to take me to Sir Jervis's -house." - -"And I want you, Miss Emily, to take me to the British Museum. -Don't let me startle you! When I called here earlier in the day, -I was told that you had gone to the reading-room. Is your reading -a secret?" - -His manner, when he made that reply, suggested to Emily that -there was some foregone conclusion in his mind, which he was -putting to the test. She answered without alluding to the -impression which he had produced on her. - -"My reading is no secret. I am only consulting old newspapers." - -He repeated the last words to himself. "Old newspapers?" he -said--as if he was not quite sure of having rightly understood -her. - -She tried to help him by a more definite reply. - -"I am looking through old newspapers," she resumed, "beginning -with the year eighteen hundred and seventy-six." - -"And going back from that time," he asked eagerly; "to earlier -dates still?" - -"No--just the contrary--advancing from 'seventy-six' to the -present time." - -He suddenly turned pale--and tried to hide his face from her by -looking out of the window. For a moment, his agitation deprived -him of his presence of mind. In that moment, she saw that she had -alarmed him. - -"What have I said to frighten you?" she asked. - -He tried to assume a tone of commonplace gallantry. "There are -limits even to your power over me," he replied. "Whatever else -you may do, you can never frighten me. Are you searching those -old newspapers with any particular object in view?" - -"Yes." - -"May I know what it is?" - -"May I know why I frightened you?" - -He began to walk up and down the room again--then checked himself -abruptly, and appealed to her mercy. - -"Don't be hard on me," he pleaded. "I am so fond of you--oh, -forgive me! I only mean that it distresses me to have any -concealments from you. If I could open my whole heart at this -moment, I shou ld be a happier man." - -She understood him and believed him. "My curiosity shall never -embarrass you again," she answered warmly. "I won't even remember -that I wanted to hear how you got on in Sir Jervis's house." - -His gratitude seized the opportunity of taking her harmlessly -into his confidence. "As Sir Jervis's guest," he said, "my -experience is at your service. Only tell me how I can interest -you." - -She replied, with some hesitation, "I should like to know what -happened when you first saw Mrs. Rook." To her surprise and -relief, he at once complied with her wishes. - -"We met," he said, "on the evening when I first entered the -house. Sir Jervis took me into the dining-room--and there sat -Miss Redwood, with a large black cat on her lap. Older than her -brother, taller than her brother, leaner than her brother--with -strange stony eyes, and a skin like parchment--she looked (if I -may speak in contradictions) like a living corpse. I was -presented, and the corpse revived. The last lingering relics of -former good breeding showed themselves faintly in her brow and in -her smile. You will hear more of Miss Redwood presently. In the -meanwhile, Sir Jervis made me reward his hospitality by -professional advice. He wished me to decide whether the artists -whom he had employed to illustrate his wonderful book had cheated -him by overcharges and bad work--and Mrs. Rook was sent to fetch -the engravings from his study upstairs. You remember her -petrified appearance, when she first read the inscription on your -locket? The same result followed when she found herself face to -face with me. I saluted her civilly--she was deaf and blind to my -politeness. Her master snatched the illustrations out of her -hand, and told her to leave the room. She stood stockstill, -staring helplessly. Sir Jervis looked round at his sister; and I -followed his example. Miss Redwood was observing the housekeeper -too attentively to notice anything else; her brother was obliged -to speak to her. 'Try Rook with the bell,' he said. Miss Redwood -took a fine old bronze hand-bell from the table at her side, and -rang it. At the shrill silvery sound of the bell, Mrs. Rook put -her hand to her head as if the ringing had hurt her--turned -instantly, and left us. 'Nobody can manage Rook but my sister,' -Sir Jervis explained; 'Rook is crazy.' Miss Redwood differed with -him. 'No!' she said. Only one word, but there were volumes of -contradiction in it. Sir Jervis looked at me slyly; meaning, -perhaps, that he thought his sister crazy too. The dinner was -brought in at the same moment, and my attention was diverted to -Mrs. Rook's husband." - -"What was he like?" Emily asked. - -"I really can't tell you; he was one of those essentially -commonplace persons, whom one never looks at a second time. His -dress was shabby, his head was bald, and his hands shook when he -waited on us at table--and that is all I remember. Sir Jervis and -I feasted on salt fish, mutton, and beer. Miss Redwood had cold -broth, with a wine-glass full of rum poured into it by Mr. Rook. -'She's got no stomach,' her brother informed me; 'hot things come -up again ten minutes after they have gone down her throat; she -lives on that beastly mixture, and calls it broth-grog!' Miss -Redwood sipped her elixir of life, and occasionally looked at me -with an appearance of interest which I was at a loss to -understand. Dinner being over, she rang her antique bell. The -shabby old man-servant answered her call. 'Where's your wife?' -she inquired. 'Ill, miss.' She took Mr. Rook's arm to go out, and -stopped as she passed me. 'Come to my room, if you please, sir, -to-morrow at two o'clock,' she said. Sir Jervis explained again: -'She's all to pieces in the morning' (he invariably called his -sister 'She'); 'and gets patched up toward the middle of the day. -Death has forgotten her, that's about the truth of it.' He -lighted his pipe and pondered over the hieroglyphics found among -the ruined cities of Yucatan; I lighted my pipe, and read the -only book I could find in the dining-room--a dreadful record of -shipwrecks and disasters at sea. When the room was full of -tobacco-smoke we fell asleep in our chairs--and when we awoke -again we got up and went to bed. There is the true story of my -first evening at Redwood Hall." - -Emily begged him to go on. "You have interested me in Miss -Redwood," she said. "You kept your appointment, of course?" - -"I kept my appointment in no very pleasant humor. Encouraged by -my favorable report of the illustrations which he had submitted -to my judgment, Sir Jervis proposed to make me useful to him in a -new capacity. 'You have nothing particular to do,' he said, -'suppose you clean my pictures?' I gave him one of my black -looks, and made no other reply. My interview with his sister -tried my powers of self-command in another way. Miss Redwood -declared her purpose in sending for me the moment I entered the -room. Without any preliminary remarks--speaking slowly and -emphatically, in a wonderfully strong voice for a woman of her -age--she said, 'I have a favor to ask of you, sir. I want you to -tell me what Mrs. Rook has done.' I was so staggered that I -stared at her like a fool. She went on: 'I suspected Mrs. Rook, -sir, of having guilty remembrances on her conscience before she -had been a week in our service.' Can you imagine my astonishment -when I heard that Miss Redwood's view of Mrs. Rook was my view? -Finding that I still said nothing, the old lady entered into -details: 'We arranged, sir,' (she persisted in calling me 'sir,' -with the formal politeness of the old school)--'we arranged, sir, -that Mrs. Rook and her husband should occupy the bedroom next to -mine, so that I might have her near me in case of my being taken -ill in the night. She looked at the door between the two -rooms--suspicious! She asked if there was any objection to her -changing to another room--suspicious! suspicious! Pray take a -seat, sir, and tell me which Mrs. Rook is guilty of--theft or -murder?' " - -"What a dreadful old woman!" Emily exclaimed. "How did you answer -her?" - -"I told her, with perfect truth, that I knew nothing of Mrs. -Rook's secrets. Miss Redwood's humor took a satirical turn. -'Allow me to ask, sir, whether your eyes were shut, when our -housekeeper found herself unexpectedly in your presence?' I -referred the old lady to her brother's opinion. 'Sir Jervis -believes Mrs. Rook to be crazy,' I reminded her. 'Do you refuse -to trust me, sir?' 'I have no information to give you, madam.' -She waved her skinny old hand in the direction of the door. I -made my bow, and retired. She called me back. 'Old women used to -be prophets, sir, in the bygone time,' she said. 'I will venture -on a prediction. You will be the means of depriving us of the -services of Mr. and Mrs. Rook. If you will be so good as to stay -here a day or two longer you will hear that those two people have -given us notice to quit. It will be her doing, mind--he is a mere -cypher. I wish you good-morning.' Will you believe me, when I -tell you that the prophecy was fulfilled?" - -"Do you mean that they actually left the house?" - -"They would certainly have left the house," Alban answered, "if -Sir Jervis had not insisted on receiving the customary month's -warning. He asserted his resolution by locking up the old husband -in the pantry. His sister's suspicions never entered his head; -the housekeeper's conduct (he said) simply proved that she was, -what he had always considered her to be, crazy. 'A capital -servant, in spite of that drawback,' he remarked; 'and you will -see, I shall bring her to her senses.' The impression produced on -me was naturally of a very different kind. While I was still -uncertain how to entrap Mrs. Rook into confirming my suspicions, -she herself had saved me the trouble. She had placed her own -guilty interpretation on my appearance in the house--I had driven -her away!" - -Emily remained true to her resolution not to let her curiosity -embarrass Alban again. But the unexpressed question was in her -thoughts--"Of what guilt does he suspect Mrs. Rook? And, when he -first felt his suspicions, was my father in his mind?" - -Alban proceeded. - -"I had only to consider next, whether I could hope to make any -further discoveries, - if I continued to be Sir Jervis's guest. The object of my -journey had been gained; and I had no desire to be employed as -picture-cleaner. Miss Redwood assisted me in arriving at a -decision. I was sent for to speak to her again. The success of -her prophecy had raised her spirits. She asked, with ironical -humility, if I proposed to honor them by still remaining their -guest, after the disturbance that I had provoked. I answered that -I proposed to leave by the first train the next morning. 'Will it -be convenient for you to travel to some place at a good distance -from this part of the world?' she asked. I had my own reasons for -going to London, and said so. 'Will you mention that to my -brother this evening, just before we sit down to dinner?' she -continued. 'And will you tell him plainly that you have no -intention of returning to the North? I shall make use of Mrs. -Rook's arm, as usual, to help me downstairs--and I will take care -that she hears what you say. Without venturing on another -prophecy, I will only hint to you that I have my own idea of what -will happen; and I should like you to see for yourself, sir, -whether my anticipations are realized.' Need I tell you that this -strange old woman proved to be right once more? Mr. Rook was -released; Mrs. Rook made humble apologies, and laid the whole -blame on her husband's temper: and Sir Jervis bade me remark that -his method had succeeded in bringing the housekeeper to her -senses. Such were the results produced by the announcement of my -departure for London--purposely made in Mrs. Rook's hearing. Do -you agree with me, that my journey to Northumberland has not been -taken in vain?" - -Once more, Emily felt the necessity of controlling herself. - -Alban had said that he had "reasons of his own for going to -London." Could she venture to ask him what those reasons were? -She could only persist in restraining her curiosity, and conclude -that he would have mentioned his motive, if it had been (as she -had at one time supposed) connected with herself. It was a wise -decision. No earthly consideration would have induced Alban to -answer her, if she had put the question to him. - -All doubt of the correctness of his own first impression was now -at an end; he was convinced that Mrs. Rook had been an accomplice -in the crime committed, in 1877, at the village inn. His object -in traveling to London was to consult the newspaper narrative of -the murder. He, too, had been one of the readers at the -Museum--had examined the back numbers of the newspaper--and had -arrived at the conclusion that Emily's father had been the victim -of the crime. Unless he found means to prevent it, her course of -reading would take her from the year 1876 to the year 1877, and -under that date, she would see the fatal report, heading the top -of a column, and printed in conspicuous type. - -In the meanwhile Emily had broken the silence, before it could -lead to embarrassing results, by asking if Alban had seen Mrs. -Rook again, on the morning when he left Sir Jervis's house. - -"There was nothing to be gained by seeing her, "Alban replied. -"Now that she and her husband had decided to remain at Redwood -Hall, I knew where to find her in case of necessity. As it -happened I saw nobody, on the morning of my departure, but Sir -Jervis himself. He still held to his idea of having his pictures -cleaned for nothing. 'If you can't do it yourself,' he said, -'couldn't you teach my secretary?' He described the lady whom he -had engaged in your place as a 'nasty middle-aged woman with a -perpetual cold in her head.' At the same time (he remarked) he -was a friend to the women, 'because he got them cheap.' I -declined to teach the unfortunate secretary the art of -picture-cleaning. Finding me determined, Sir Jervis was quite -ready to say good-by. But he made use of me to the last. He -employed me as postman and saved a stamp. The letter addressed to -you arrived at breakfast-time. Sir Jervis said, 'You are going to -London; suppose you take it with you?'" - -"Did he tell you that there was a letter of his own inclosed in -the envelope?" - -"No. When he gave me the envelope it was already sealed." - -Emily at once handed to him Sir Jervis's letter. "That will tell -you who employs me at the Museum, and what my work is," she said. - -He looked through the letter, and at once offered--eagerly -offered--to help her. - -"I have been a student in the reading-room at intervals, for -years past," he said. "Let me assist you, and I shall have -something to do in my holiday time." He was so anxious to be of -use that he interrupted her before she could thank him. "Let us -take alternate years," he suggested. "Did you not tell me you -were searching the newspapers published in eighteen hundred and -seventy-six?" - -"Yes." - -"Very well. I will take the next year. You will take the year -after. And so on." - -"You are very kind," she answered--"but I should like to propose -an improvement on your plan." - -"What improvement?" he asked, rather sharply. - -"If you will leave the five years, from 'seventy-six to -'eighty-one, entirely to me," she resumed, "and take the next -five years, reckoning _backward_ from 'seventy-six, you will help -me to better purpose. Sir Jervis expects me to look for reports -of Central American Explorations, through the newspapers of the -last forty years; and I have taken the liberty of limiting the -heavy task imposed on me. When I report my progress to my -employer, I should like to say that I have got through ten years -of the examination, instead of five. Do you see any objection to -the arrangement I propose?" - -He proved to be obstinate--incomprehensibly obstinate. - -'Let us try my plan to begin with," he insisted. "While you are -looking through 'seventy-six, let me be at work on -'seventy-seven. If you still prefer your own arrangement, after -that, I will follow your suggestion with pleasure. Is it agreed?" - -Her acute perception--enlightened by his tone as wall as by his -words--detected something under the surface already. - -"It isn't agreed until I understand you a little better," she -quietly replied. "I fancy you have some object of your own in -view." - -She spoke with her usual directness of look and manner. He was -evidently disconcerted. "What makes you think so?" he asked. - -"My own experience of myself makes me think so," she answered. -"If _I_ had some object to gain, I should persist in carrying it -out--like you." - -"Does that mean, Miss Emily, that you refuse to give way?" - -"No, Mr. Morris. I have made myself disagreeable, but I know when -to stop. I trust you--and submit." - -If he had been less deeply interested in the accomplishment of -his merciful design, he might have viewed Emily's sudden -submission with some distrust. As it was, his eagerness to -prevent her from discovering the narrative of the murder hurried -him into an act of indiscretion. He made an excuse to leave her -immediately, in the fear that she might change her mind. - -"I have inexcusably prolonged my visit," he said. "If I presume -on your kindness in this way, how can I hope that you will -receive me again? We meet to-morrow in the reading-room." - -He hastened away, as if he was afraid to let her say a word in -reply. - -Emily reflected. - -"Is there something he doesn't want me to see, in the news of the -year 'seventy-seven?" The one explanation which suggested itself -to her mind assumed that form of expression--and the one method -of satisfying her curiosity that seemed likely to succeed, was to -search the volume which Alban had reserved for his own reading. - -For two days they pursued their task together, seated at opposite -desks. On the third day Emily was absent. - -Was she ill? - -She was at the library in the City, consulting the file of _The -Times_ for the year 1877. - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -MR. ROOK. - -Emily's first day in the City library proved to be a day wasted. - -She began reading the back numbers of the newspaper at haphazard, -without any definite idea of what she was looking for. Conscious -of the error into which her own impatience had led her, she was -at a loss how to retrace the false step that she had taken. But -two alternatives presented themselves: either to abandon the hope -of making any discovery--or to attempt to penetrate Alban 's -motives by means of pure guesswork, pursued in the dark. - -How was the problem to be solved? This serious question troubled -her all through the evening, and kept her awake when she went to -bed. In despair of her capacity to remove the obstacle that stood -in her way, she decided on resuming her regular work at the -Museum--turned her pillow to get at the cool side of it--and made -up her mind to go asleep. - -In the case of the wiser animals, the Person submits to Sleep. It -is only the superior human being who tries the hopeless -experiment of making Sleep submit to the Person. Wakeful on the -warm side of the pillow, Emily remained wakeful on the cool -side--thinking again and again of the interview with Alban which -had ended so strangely. - -Little by little, her mind passed the limits which had restrained -it thus far. Alban's conduct in keeping his secret, in the matter -of the newspapers, now began to associate itself with Alban's -conduct in keeping that other secret, which concealed from her -his suspicions of Mrs. Rook. - -She started up in bed as the next possibility occurred to her. - -In speaking of the disaster which had compelled Mr. and Mrs. Rook -to close the inn, Cecilia had alluded to an inquest held on the -body of the murdered man. Had the inquest been mentioned in the -newspapers, at the time? And had Alban seen something in the -report, which concerned Mrs. Rook? - -Led by the new light that had fallen on her, Emily returned to -the library the next morning with a definite idea of what she had -to look for. Incapable of giving exact dates, Cecilia had -informed her that the crime was committed "in the autumn." The -month to choose, in beginning her examination, was therefore the -month of August. - -No discovery rewarded her. She tried September, next--with the -same unsatisfactory results. On Monday the first of October she -met with some encouragement at last. At the top of a column -appeared a telegraphic summary of all that was then known of the -crime. In the number for the Wednesday following, she found a -full report of the proceedings at the inquest. - -Passing over the preliminary remarks, Emily read the evidence -with the closest attention. - - ------------- - -The jury having viewed the body, and having visited an outhouse -in which the murder had been committed, the first witness called -was Mr. Benjamin Rook, landlord of the Hand-in-Hand inn. - -On the evening of Sunday, September 30th, 1877, two gentlemen -presented themselves at Mr. Rook's house, under circumstances -which especially excited his attention. - -The youngest of the two was short, and of fair complexion. He -carried a knapsack, like a gentleman on a pedestrian excursion; -his manners were pleasant; and he was decidedly good-looking. His -companion, older, taller, and darker--and a finer man -altogether--leaned on his arm and seemed to be exhausted. In -every respect they were singularly unlike each other. The younger -stranger (excepting little half-whiskers) was clean shaved. The -elder wore his whole beard. Not knowing their names, the landlord -distinguished them, at the coroner's suggestion, as the fair -gentleman, and the dark gentleman. - -It was raining when the two arrived at the inn. There were signs -in the heavens of a stormy night. - -On accosting the landlord, the fair gentleman volunteered the -following statement: - -Approaching the village, he had been startled by seeing the dark -gentleman (a total stranger to him) stretched prostrate on the -grass at the roadside--so far as he could judge, in a swoon. -Having a flask with brandy in it, he revived the fainting man, -and led him to the inn. - -This statement was confirmed by a laborer, who was on his way to -the village at the time. - -The dark gentleman endeavored to explain what had happened to -him. He had, as he supposed, allowed too long a time to pass -(after an early breakfast that morning), without taking food: he -could only attribute the fainting fit to that cause. He was not -liable to fainting fits. What purpose (if any) had brought him -into the neighborhood of Zeeland, he did not state. He had no -intention of remaining at the inn, except for refreshment; and he -asked for a carriage to take him to the railway station. - -The fair gentleman, seeing the signs of bad weather, desired to -remain in Mr. Rook's house for the night, and proposed to resume -his walking tour the next day. - -Excepting the case of supper, which could be easily provided, the -landlord had no choice but to disappoint both his guests. In his -small way of business, none of his customers wanted to hire a -carriage--even if he could have afforded to keep one. As for -beds, the few rooms which the inn contained were all engaged; -including even the room occupied by himself and his wife. An -exhibition of agricultural implements had been opened in the -neighborhood, only two days since; and a public competition -between rival machines was to be decided on the coming Monday. -Not only was the Hand-in-Hand inn crowded, but even the -accommodation offered by the nearest town had proved barely -sufficient to meet the public demand. - -The gentlemen looked at each other and agreed that there was no -help for it but to hurry the supper, and walk to the railway -station--a distance of between five and six miles--in time to -catch the last train. - -While the meal was being prepared, the rain held off for a while. -The dark man asked his way to the post-office and went out by -himself. - -He came back in about ten minutes, and sat down afterward to -supper with his companion. Neither the landlord, nor any other -person in the public room, noticed any change in him on his -return. He was a grave, quiet sort of person, and (unlike the -other one) not much of a talker. - -As the darkness came on, the rain fell again heavily; and the -heavens were black. - -A flash of lightning startled the gentlemen when they went to the -window to look out: the thunderstorm began. It was simply -impossible that two strangers to the neighborhood could find -their way to the station, through storm and darkness, in time to -catch the train. With or without bedrooms, they must remain at -the inn for the night. Having already given up their own room to -their lodgers, the landlord and landlady had no other place to -sleep in than the kitchen. Next to the kitchen, and communicating -with it by a door, was an outhouse; used, partly as a scullery, -partly as a lumber-room. There was an old truckle-bed among the -lumber, on which one of the gentlemen might rest. A mattress on -the floor could be provided for the other. After adding a table -and a basin, for the purposes of the toilet, the accommodation -which Mr. Rook was able to offer came to an end. - -The travelers agreed to occupy this makeshift bed-chamber. - -The thunderstorm passed away; but the rain continued to fall -heavily. Soon after eleven the guests at the inn retired for the -night. There was some little discussion between the two -travelers, as to which of them should take possession of the -truckle-bed. It was put an end to by the fair gentleman, in his -own pleasant way. He proposed to "toss up for it"--and he lost. -The dark gentleman went to bed first; the fair gentleman -followed, after waiting a while. Mr. Rook took his knapsack into -the outhouse; and arranged on the table his appliances for the -toilet--contained in a leather roll, and including a razor--ready -for use in the morning. - -Having previously barred the second door of the outhouse, which -led into the yard, Mr. Rook fastened the other door, the lock and -bolts of which were on the side of the kitchen. He then secured -the house door, and the shutters over the lower windows. -Returning to the kitchen, he noticed that the time was ten -minutes short of midnight. Soon afterward, he and his wife went -to bed. - -Nothing happened to disturb Mr. and Mrs. Rook during the night. - -At a quarter to seven the next morning, he got up; his wife being -still asleep. He had been instructed to wake the gentlemen early; -and he knocked at their door. Receiving no answer, after -repeatedly knocking, he opened the door and stepped into the -outhouse. - -At this point in his evidence, the witness's recollections -appeared to overpow er him. "Give me a moment, gentlemen," he -said to the jury. "I have had a dreadful fright; and I don't -believe I shall get over it for the rest of my life." - -The coroner helped him by a question: "What did you see when you -opened the door?" - -Mr. Rook answered: "I saw the dark man stretched out on his -bed--dead, with a frightful wound in his throat. I saw an open -razor, stained with smears of blood, at his side." - -"Did you notice the door, leading into the yard?" - -"It was wide open, sir. When I was able to look round me, the -other traveler--I mean the man with the fair complexion, who -carried the knapsack--was nowhere to be seen." - -"What did you do, after making these discoveries?" - -"I closed the yard door. Then I locked the other door, and put -the key in my pocket. After that I roused the servant, and sent -him to the constable--who lived near to us--while I ran for the -doctor, whose house was at the other end of our village. The -doctor sent his groom, on horseback, to the police-office in the -town. When I returned to the inn, the constable was there--and he -and the police took the matter into their own hands." - -"You have nothing more to tell us?" - -"Nothing more." - - -CHAPTER XXV - -"J. B." - -Mr. Rook having completed his evidence, the police authorities -were the next witnesses examined. - -They had not found the slightest trace of any attempt to break -into the house in the night. The murdered man's gold watch and -chain were discovered under his pillow. On examining his clothes -the money was found in his purse, and the gold studs and sleeve -buttons were left in his shirt. But his pocketbook (seen by -witnesses who had not yet been examined) was missing. The search -for visiting cards and letters had proved to be fruitless. Only -the initials, "J. B.," were marked on his linen. He had brought -no luggage with him to the inn. Nothing could be found which led -to the discovery of his name or of the purpose which had taken -him into that part of the country. - -The police examined the outhouse next, in search of -circumstantial evidence against the missing man. - -He must have carried away his knapsack, when he took to flight, -but he had been (probably) in too great a hurry to look for his -razor--or perhaps too terrified to touch it, if it had attracted -his notice. The leather roll, and the other articles used for his -toilet, had been taken away. Mr. Rook identified the -blood-stained razor. He had noticed overnight the name of the -Belgian city, "Liege," engraved on it. - -The yard was the next place inspected. Foot-steps were found on -the muddy earth up to the wall. But the road on the other side -had been recently mended with stones, and the trace of the -fugitive was lost. Casts had been taken of the footsteps; and no -other means of discovery had been left untried. The authorities -in London had also been communicated with by telegraph. - -The doctor being called, described a personal peculiarity, which -he had noticed at the post-mortem examination, and which might -lead to the identification of the murdered man. - -As to the cause of death, the witness said it could be stated in -two words. The internal jugular vein had been cut through, with -such violence, judging by the appearances, that the wound could -not have been inflicted, in the act of suicide, by the hand of -the deceased person. No other injuries, and no sign of disease, -was found on the body. The one cause of death had been -Hemorrhage; and the one peculiarity which called for notice had -been discovered in the mouth. Two of the front teeth, in the -upper jaw, were false. They had been so admirably made to -resemble the natural teeth on either side of them, in form and -color, that the witness had only hit on the discovery by -accidentally touching the inner side of the gum with one of his -fingers. - -The landlady was examined, when the doctor had retired. Mrs. Rook -was able, in answering questions put to her, to give important -information, in reference to the missing pocketbook. - -Before retiring to rest, the two gentlemen had paid the -bill--intending to leave the inn the first thing in the morning. -The traveler with the knapsack paid his share in money. The other -unfortunate gentleman looked into his purse, and found only a -shilling and a sixpence in it. He asked Mrs. Rook if she could -change a bank-note. She told him it could be done, provided the -note was for no considerable sum of money. Upon that he opened -his pocketbook (which the witness described minutely) and turned -out the contents on the table. After searching among many Bank of -England notes, some in one pocket of the book and some in -another, he found a note of the value of five pounds. He -thereupon settled his bill, and received the change from Mrs. -Rook--her husband being in another part of the room, attending to -the guests. She noticed a letter in an envelope, and a few cards -which looked (to her judgment) like visiting cards, among the -bank-notes which he had turned out on the table. When she -returned to him with the change, he had just put them back, and -was closing the pocketbook. She saw him place it in one of the -breast pockets of his coat. - -The fellow-traveler who had accompanied him to the inn was -present all the time, sitting on the opposite side of the table. -He made a remark when he saw the notes produced. He said, "Put -all that money back--don't tempt a poor man like me!" It was said -laughing, as if by way of a joke. - -Mrs. Rook had observed nothing more that night; had slept as -soundly as usual; and had been awakened when her husband knocked -at the outhouse door, according to instructions received from the -gentlemen, overnight. - -Three of the guests in the public room corroborated Mrs. Rook's -evidence. They were respectable persons, well and widely known in -that part of Hampshire. Besides these, there were two strangers -staying in the house. They referred the coroner to their -employers--eminent manufacturers at Sheffield and -Wolverhampton--whose testimony spoke for itself. - -The last witness called was a grocer in the village, who kept the -post-office. - -On the evening of the 30th, a dark gentleman, wearing his beard, -knocked at the door, and asked for a letter addressed to "J. B., -Post-office, Zeeland." The letter had arrived by that morning's -post; but, being Sunday evening, the grocer requested that -application might be made for it the next morning. The stranger -said the letter contained news, which it was of importance to him -to receive without delay. Upon this, the grocer made an exception -to customary rules and gave him the letter. He read it by the -light of the lamp in the passage. It must have been short, for -the reading was done in a moment. He seemed to think over it for -a while; and then he turned round to go out. There was nothing to -notice in his look or in his manner. The witness offered a remark -on the weather; and the gentleman said, "Yes, it looks like a bad -night"--and so went away. - -The postmaster's evidence was of importance in one respect: it -suggested the motive which had brought the deceased to Zeeland. -The letter addressed to "J. B." was, in all probability, the -letter seen by Mrs. Rook among the contents of the pocketbook, -spread out on the table. - -The inquiry being, so far, at an end, the inquest was -adjourned--on the chance of obtaining additional evidence, when -the reported proceedings were read by the public. - - . . . . . . . . - -Consulting a later number of the newspaper Emily discovered that -the deceased person had been identified by a witness from London. - -Henry Forth, gentleman's valet, being examined, made the -following statement: - -He had read the medical evidence contained in the report of the -inquest; and, believing that he could identify the deceased, had -been sent by his present master to assist the object of the -inquiry. Ten days since, being then out of place, he had answered -an advertisement. The next day, he was instructed to call at -Tracey's Hotel, London, at six o'clock in the evening, and to ask -for Mr. James Brown. Arriving at the hotel he saw the gentleman -for a few minutes only. Mr. Brown had a friend with him. After -glancing over the valet's references, he said, "I haven't time -enough to speak to you this evening. Call here to-morrow morning -at nine o'clock." The gentleman who was present laughed, and -said, "You won't be up!" Mr. Brown answered, "That won't matter; -the man can come to my bedroom, and let me see how he understands -his duties, on trial." At nine the next morning, Mr. Brown was -reported to be still in bed; and the witness was informed of the -number of the room. He knocked at the door. A drowsy voice inside -said something, which he interpreted as meaning "Come in." He -went in. The toilet-table was on his left hand, and the bed (with -the lower curtain drawn) was on his right. He saw on the table a -tumbler with a little water in it, and with two false teeth in -the water. Mr. Brown started up in bed--looked at him -furiously--abused him for daring to enter the room--and shouted -to him to "get out." The witness, not accustomed to be treated in -that way, felt naturally indignant, and at once withdrew--but not -before he had plainly seen the vacant place which the false teeth -had been made to fill. Perhaps Mr. Brown had forgotten that he -had left his teeth on the table. Or perhaps he (the valet) had -misunderstood what had been said to him when he knocked at the -door. Either way, it seemed to be plain enough that the gentleman -resented the discovery of his false teeth by a stranger. - -Having concluded his statement the witness proceeded to identify -the remains of the deceased. - -He at once recognized the gentleman named James Brown, whom he -had twice seen--once in the evening, and again the next -morning--at Tracey's Hotel. In answer to further inquiries, he -declared that he knew nothing of the family, or of the place of -residence, of the deceased. He complained to the proprietor of -the hotel of the rude treatment that he had received, and asked -if Mr. Tracey knew anything of Mr. James Brown. Mr. Tracey knew -nothing of him. On consulting the hotel book it was found that he -had given notice to leave, that afternoon. - -Before returning to London, the witness produced references which -gave him an excellent character. He also left the address of the -master who had engaged him three days since. - -The last precaution adopted was to have the face of the corpse -photographed, before the coffin was closed. On the same day the -jury agreed on their verdict: "Willful murder against some person -unknown." - - . . . . . . . . - - -Two days later, Emily found a last allusion to the -crime--extracted from the columns of the _South Hampshire -Gazette_. - -A relative of the deceased, seeing the report of the adjourned -inquest, had appeared (accompanied by a medical gentleman); had -seen the photograph; and had declared the identification by Henry -Forth to be correct. - -Among other particulars, now communicated for the first time, it -was stated that the late Mr. James Brown had been unreasonably -sensitive on the subject of his false teeth, and that the one -member of his family who knew of his wearing them was the -relative who now claimed his remains. - -The claim having been established to the satisfaction of the -authorities, the corpse was removed by railroad the same day. No -further light had been thrown on the murder. The Handbill -offering the reward, and describing the suspected man, had failed -to prove of any assistance to the investigations of the police. - -From that date, no further notice of the crime committed at the -Hand-in-Hand inn appeared in the public journals. - - . . . . . . . . - - -Emily closed the volume which she had been consulting, and -thankfully acknowledged the services of the librarian. - -The new reader had excited this gentleman's interest. Noticing -how carefully she examined the numbers of the old newspaper, he -looked at her, from time to time, wondering whether it was good -news or bad of which she was in search. She read steadily and -continuously; but she never rewarded his curiosity by any outward -sign of the impression that had been produced on her. When she -left the room there was nothing to remark in her manner; she -looked quietly thoughtful--and that was all. - -The librarian smiled--amused by his own folly. Because a -stranger's appearance had attracted him, he had taken it for -granted that circumstances of romantic interest must be connected -with her visit to the library. Far from misleading him, as he -supposed, his fancy might have been employed to better purpose, -if it had taken a higher flight still--and had associated Emily -with the fateful gloom of tragedy, in place of the brighter -interest of romance. - -There, among the ordinary readers of the day, was a dutiful and -affectionate daughter following the dreadful story of the death -of her father by murder, and believing it to be the story of a -stranger--because she loved and trusted the person whose -short-sighted mercy had deceived her. That very discovery, the -dread of which had shaken the good doctor's firm nerves, had -forced Alban to exclude from his confidence the woman whom he -loved, and had driven the faithful old servant from the bedside -of her dying mistress--that very discovery Emily had now made, -with a face which never changed color, and a heart which beat at -ease. Was the deception that had won this cruel victory over -truth destined still to triumph in the days which were to come? -Yes--if the life of earth is a foretaste of the life of hell. -No--if a lie _is_ a lie, be the merciful motive for the falsehood -what it may. No--if all deceit contains in it the seed of -retribution, to be ripened inexorably in the lapse of time. - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -MOTHER EVE. - -The servant received Emily, on her return from the library, with -a sly smile. "Here he is again, miss, waiting to see you." - -She opened the parlor door, and revealed Alban Morris, as -restless as ever, walking up and down the room. - -"When I missed you at the Museum, I was afraid you might be ill," -he said. "Ought I to have gone away, when my anxiety was -relieved? Shall I go away now?" - -"You must take a chair, Mr. Morris, and hear what I have to say -for myself. When you left me after your last visit, I suppose I -felt the force of example. At any rate I, like you, had my -suspicions. I have been trying to confirm them--and I have -failed." - -He paused, with the chair in his hand. "Suspicions of Me?" he -asked. - -"Certainly! Can you guess how I have been employed for the last -two days? No--not even your ingenuity can do that. I have been -hard at work, in another reading-room, consulting the same back -numbers of the same newspaper, which you have been examining at -the British Museum. There is my confession--and now we will have -some tea." - -She moved to the fireplace, to ring the bell, and failed to see -the effect produced on Alban by those lightly-uttered words. The -common phrase is the only phrase that can describe it. He was -thunderstruck. - -"Yes," she resumed, "I have read the report of the inquest. If I -know nothing else, I know that the murder at Zeeland can't be the -discovery which you are bent on keeping from me. Don't be alarmed -for the preservation of your secret! I am too much discouraged to -try again." - -The servant interrupted them by answering the bell; Alban once -more escaped detection. Emily gave her orders with an approach to -the old gayety of her school days. "Tea, as soon as possible--and -let us have the new cake. Are you too much of a man, Mr. Morris, -to like cake?" - -In this state of agitation, he was unreasonably irritated by that -playful question. "There is one thing I like better than cake," -he said; "and that one thing is a plain explanation." - -His tone puzzled her. "Have I said anything to offend you?" she -asked. "Surely you can make allowance for a girl's curiosity? Oh, -you shall have your explanation--and, what is more, you shall -have it without reserve!" - -She was as good as her word. What she had thought, and what she -had planned, when he left her after his last visit, was frankly -and fully told. "If you wonder how I discovered the library," she -went on, "I must refer you to my aunt's lawyer. He lives in the -City--and I wrote to him to help me. I don't consider that my -time has been wasted. Mr. M orris, we owe an apology to Mrs. -Rook." - -Alban's astonishment, when he heard this, forced its way to -expression in words. "What can you possibly mean?" he asked. - -The tea was brought in before Emily could reply. She filled the -cups, and sighed as she looked at the cake. "If Cecilia was here, -how she would enjoy it!" With that complimentary tribute to her -friend, she handed a slice to Alban. He never even noticed it. - -"We have both of us behaved most unkindly to Mrs. Rook," she -resumed. "I can excuse your not seeing it; for I should not have -seen it either, but for the newspaper. While I was reading, I had -an opportunity of thinking over what we said and did, when the -poor woman's behavior so needlessly offended us. I was too -excited to think, at the time--and, besides, I had been upset, -only the night before, by what Miss Jethro said to me." - -Alban started. "What has Miss Jethro to do with it?" he asked. - -"Nothing at all," Emily answered. "She spoke to me of her own -private affairs. A long story--and you wouldn't be interested in -it. Let me finish what I had to say. Mrs. Rook was naturally -reminded of the murder, when she heard that my name was Brown; -and she must certainly have been struck--as I was--by the -coincidence of my father's death taking place at the same time -when his unfortunate namesake was killed. Doesn't this -sufficiently account for her agitation when she looked at the -locket? We first took her by surprise: and then we suspected her -of Heaven knows what, because the poor creature didn't happen to -have her wits about her, and to remember at the right moment what -a very common name 'James Brown' is. Don't you see it as I do?" - -"I see that you have arrived at a remarkable change of opinion, -since we spoke of the subject in the garden at school." - -"In my place, you would have changed your opinion too. I shall -write to Mrs. Rook by tomorrow's post." - -Alban heard her with dismay. "Pray be guided by my advice!" he -said earnestly. "Pray don't write that letter!" - -"Why not?" - -It was too late to recall the words which he had rashly allowed -to escape him. How could he reply? - -To own that he had not only read what Emily had read, but had -carefully copied the whole narrative and considered it at his -leisure, appeared to be simply impossible after what he had now -heard. Her peace of mind depended absolutely on his discretion. -In this serious emergency, silence was a mercy, and silence was a -lie. If he remained silent, might the mercy be trusted to atone -for the lie? He was too fond of Emily to decide that question -fairly, on its own merits. In other words, he shrank from the -terrible responsibility of telling her the truth. - -"Isn't the imprudence of writing to such a person as Mrs. Rook -plain enough to speak for itself?" he suggested cautiously. - -"Not to me." - -She made that reply rather obstinately. Alban seemed (in her -view) to be trying to prevent her from atoning for an act of -injustice. Besides, he despised her cake. "I want to know why you -object," she said; taking back the neglected slice, and eating it -herself. - -"I object," Alban answered, "because Mrs. Rook is a coarse -presuming woman. She may pervert your letter to some use of her -own, which you may have reason to regret." - -"Is that all?" - -"Isn't it enough?" - -"It may be enough for _you_. When I have done a person an injury, -and wish to make an apology, I don't think it necessary to -inquire whether the person's manners happen to be vulgar or not." - -Alban's patience was still equal to any demands that she could -make on it. "I can only offer you advice which is honestly -intended for your own good," he gently replied. - -"You would have more influence over me, Mr. Morris, if you were a -little readier to take me into your confidence. I daresay I am -wrong--but I don't like following advice which is given to me in -the dark." - -It was impossible to offend him. "Very naturally," he said; "I -don't blame you." - -Her color deepened, and her voice rose. Alban's patient adherence -to his own view--so courteously and considerately urged--was -beginning to try her temper. "In plain words," she rejoined, "I -am to believe that you can't be mistaken in your judgment of -another person." - -There was a ring at the door of the cottage while she was -speaking. But she was too warmly interested in confuting Alban to -notice it. - -He was quite willing to be confuted. Even when she lost her -temper, she was still interesting to him. "I don't expect you to -think me infallible," he said. "Perhaps you will remember that I -have had some experience. I am unfortunately older than you are." - -"Oh if wisdom comes with age," she smartly reminded him, "your -friend Miss Redwood is old enough to be your mother--and she -suspected Mrs. Rook of murder, because the poor woman looked at a -door, and disliked being in the next room to a fidgety old maid." - -Alban's manner changed: he shrank from that chance allusion to -doubts and fears which he dare not acknowledge. "Let us talk of -something else," he said. - -She looked at him with a saucy smile. "Have I driven you into a -corner at last? And is _that_ your way of getting out of it?" - -Even his endurance failed. "Are you trying to provoke me?" he -asked. "Are you no better than other women? I wouldn't have -believed it of you, Emily." - -"Emily?" She repeated the name in a tone of surprise, which -reminded him that he had addressed her with familiarity at a most -inappropriate time--the time when they were on the point of a -quarrel. He felt the implied reproach too keenly to be able to -answer her with composure. - -"I think of Emily--I love Emily--my one hope is that Emily may -love me. Oh, my dear, is there no excuse if I forget to call you -'Miss' when you distress me?" - -All that was tender and true in her nature secretly took his -part. She would have followed that better impulse, if he had only -been calm enough to understand her momentary silence, and to give -her time. But the temper of a gentle and generous man, once -roused, is slow to subside. Alban abruptly left his chair. "I had -better go!" he said. - -"As you please," she answered. "Whether you go, Mr. Morris, or -whether you stay, I shall write to Mrs. Rook." - -The ring at the bell was followed by the appearance of a visitor. -Doctor Allday opened the door, just in time to hear Emily's last -words. Her vehemence seemed to amuse him. - -"Who is Mrs. Rook?" he asked. - -"A most respectable person," Emily answered indignantly; -"housekeeper to Sir Jervis Redwood. You needn't sneer at her, -Doctor Allday! She has not always been in service--she was -landlady of the inn at Zeeland." - -The doctor, about to put his hat on a chair, paused. The inn at -Zeeland reminded him of the Handbill, and of the visit of Miss -Jethro. - -"Why are you so hot over it?" he inquired - -"Because I detest prejudice!" With this assertion of liberal -feeling she pointed to Alban, standing quietly apart at the -further end of the room. "There is the most prejudiced man -living--he hates Mrs. Rook. Would you like to be introduced to -him? You're a philosopher; you may do him some good. Doctor -Allday--Mr. Alban Morris." - -The doctor recognized the man, with the felt hat and the -objectionable beard, whose personal appearance had not impressed -him favorably. - -Although they may hesitate to acknowledge it, there are -respectable Englishmen still left, who regard a felt hat and a -beard as symbols of republican disaffection to the altar and the -throne. Doctor Allday's manner might have expressed this curious -form of patriotic feeling, but for the associations which Emily -had revived. In his present frame of mind, he was outwardly -courteous, because he was inwardly suspicious. Mrs. Rook had been -described to him as formerly landlady of the inn at Zeeland. Were -there reasons for Mr. Morris's hostile feeling toward this woman -which might be referable to the crime committed in her house that -might threaten Emily's tranquillity if they were made known? It -would not be amiss to see a little more of Mr. Morris, on the -first convenient occasion. - -"I am glad to make your acquaintance, sir." - -"You are very kind, Doctor Allday." - -The exchange of polite conventionalities having been -accomplished, Alban approache d Emily to take his leave, with -mingled feelings of regret and anxiety--regret for having allowed -himself to speak harshly; anxiety to part with her in kindness. - -"Will you forgive me for differing from you?" It was all he could -venture to say, in the presence of a stranger. - -"Oh, yes!" she said quietly. - -"Will you think again, before you decide?" - -"Certainly, Mr. Morris. But it won't alter my opinion, if I do." - -The doctor, hearing what passed between them, frowned. On what -subject had they been differing? And what opinion did Emily -decline to alter? - -Alban gave it up. He took her hand gently. "Shall I see you at -the Museum, to-morrow?" he asked. - -She was politely indifferent to the last. "Yes--unless something -happens to keep me at home." - -The doctor's eyebrows still expressed disapproval. For what -object was the meeting proposed? And why at a museum? - -"Good-afternoon, Doctor Allday." - -"Good-afternoon, sir." - -For a moment after Alban's departure, the doctor stood -irresolute. Arriving suddenly at a decision, he snatched up his -hat, and turned to Emily in a hurry. - -"I bring you news, my dear, which will surprise you. Who do you -think has just left my house? Mrs. Ellmother! Don't interrupt me. -She has made up her mind to go out to service again. Tired of -leading an idle life--that's her own account of it--and asks me -to act as her reference." - -"Did you consent?" - -"Consent! If I act as her reference, I shall be asked how she -came to leave her last place. A nice dilemma! Either I must own -that she deserted her mistress on her deathbed--or tell a lie. -When I put it to her in that way, she walked out of the house in -dead silence. If she applies to you next, receive her as I -did--or decline to see her, which would be better still." - -"Why am I to decline to see her?" - -"In consequence of her behavior to your aunt, to be sure! No: I -have said all I wanted to say--and I have no time to spare for -answering idle questions. Good-by." - -Socially-speaking, doctors try the patience of their nearest and -dearest friends, in this respect--they are almost always in a -hurry. Doctor Allday's precipitate departure did not tend to -soothe Emily's irritated nerves. She began to find excuses for -Mrs. Ellmother in a spirit of pure contradiction. The old -servant's behavior might admit of justification: a friendly -welcome might persuade her to explain herself. "If she applies to -me," Emily determined, "I shall certainly receive her." - -Having arrived at this resolution, her mind reverted to Alban. - -Some of the sharp things she had said to him, subjected to -after-reflection in solitude, failed to justify themselves. Her -better sense began to reproach her. She tried to silence that -unwelcome monitor by laying the blame on Alban. Why had he been -so patient and so good? What harm was there in his calling her -"Emily"? If he had told her to call _him_ by his Christian name, -she might have done it. How noble he looked, when he got up to go -away; he was actually handsome! Women may say what they please -and write what they please: their natural instinct is to find -their master in a man--especially when they like him. Sinking -lower and lower in her own estimation, Emily tried to turn the -current of her thoughts in another direction. She took up a -book--opened it, looked into it, threw it across the room. - -If Alban had returned at that moment, resolved on a -reconciliation--if he had said, "My dear, I want to see you like -yourself again; will you give me a kiss, and make it up"--would -he have left her crying, when he went away? She was crying now. - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -MENTOR AND TELEMACHUS. - -If Emily's eyes could have followed Alban as her thoughts were -following him, she would have seen him stop before he reached the -end of the road in which the cottage stood. His heart was full of -tenderness and sorrow: the longing to return to her was more than -he could resist. It would be easy to wait, within view of the -gate, until the doctor's visit came to an end. He had just -decided to go back and keep watch--when he heard rapid footsteps -approaching. There (devil take him!) was the doctor himself. - -"I have something to say to you, Mr. Morris. Which way are you -walking?" - -"Any way," Alban answered--not very graciously. - -"Then let us take the turning that leads to my house. It's not -customary for strangers, especially when they happen to be -Englishmen, to place confidence in each other. Let me set the -example of violating that rule. I want to speak to you about Miss -Emily. May I take your arm? Thank you. At my age, girls in -general--unless they are my patients--are not objects of interest -to me. But that girl at the cottage--I daresay I am in my -dotage--I tell you, sir, she has bewitched me! Upon my soul, I -could hardly be more anxious about her, if I was her father. And, -mind, I am not an affectionate man by nature. Are you anxious -about her too?" - -"Yes." - -"In what way?" - -"In what way are you anxious, Doctor Allday?" - -The doctor smiled grimly. - -"You don't trust me? Well, I have promised to set the example. -Keep your mask on, sir--mine is off, come what may of it. But, -observe: if you repeat what I am going to say--" - -Alban would hear no more. "Whatever you may say, Doctor Allday, -is trusted to my honor. If you doubt my honor, be so good as to -let go my arm--I am not walking your way." - -The doctor's hand tightened its grasp. "That little flourish of -temper, my dear sir, is all I want to set me at my ease. I feel I -have got hold of the right man. Now answer me this. Have you ever -heard of a person named Miss Jethro?" - -Alban suddenly came to a standstill. - -"All right!" said the doctor. "I couldn't have wished for a more -satisfactory reply." - -"Wait a minute," Alban interposed. "I know Miss Jethro as a -teacher at Miss Ladd's school, who left her situation -suddenly--and I know no more." - -The doctor's peculiar smile made its appearance again. - -"Speaking in the vulgar tone," he said, "you seem to be in a -hurry to wash your hands of Miss Jethro." - -"I have no reason to feel any interest in her," Alban replied. - -"Don't be too sure of that, my friend. I have something to tell -you which may alter your opinion. That ex-teacher at the school, -sir, knows how the late Mr. Brown met his death, and how his -daughter has been deceived about it." - -Alban listened with surprise--and with some little doubt, which -he thought it wise not to acknowledge. - -"The report of the inquest alludes to a 'relative' who claimed -the body," he said. "Was that 'relative' the person who deceived -Miss Emily? And was the person her aunt?" - -"I must leave you to take your own view," Doctor Allday replied. -"A promise binds me not to repeat the information that I have -received. Setting that aside, we have the same object in -view--and we must take care not to get in each other's way. Here -is my house. Let us go in, and make a clean breast of it on both -sides." - -Established in the safe seclusion of his study, the doctor set -the example of confession in these plain terms: - -"We only differ in opinion on one point," he said. "We both think -it likely (from our experience of the women) that the suspected -murderer had an accomplice. I say the guilty person is Miss -Jethro. You say--Mrs. Rook." - -"When you have read my copy of the report," Alban answered, "I -think you will arrive at my conclusion. Mrs. Rook might have -entered the outhouse in which the two men slept, at any time -during the night, while her husband was asleep. The jury believed -her when she declared that she never woke till the morning. I -don't." - -"I am open to conviction, Mr. Morris. Now about the future. Do -you mean to go on with your inquiries?" - -"Even if I had no other motive than mere curiosity," Alban -answered, "I think I should go on. But I have a more urgent -purpose in view. All that I have done thus far, has been done in -Emily's interests. My object, from the first, has been to -preserve her from any association--in the past or in the -future--with the woman whom I believe to have been concerned in -her father's death. As I have already told you, she is innocently -doing all she can, poor thing, to put obstacles in my way." - -"Yes, yes," said the doctor; "she means to write to Mrs. - Rook--and you have nearly quarreled about it. Trust me to take -that matter in hand. I don't regard it as serious. But I am -mortally afraid of what you are doing in Emily's interests. I -wish you would give it up." - -"Why?" - -"Because I see a danger. I don't deny that Emily is as innocent -of suspicion as ever. But the chances, next time, may be against -us. How do you know to what lengths your curiosity may lead you? -Or on what shocking discoveries you may not blunder with the best -intentions? Some unforeseen accident may open her eyes to the -truth, before you can prevent it. I seem to surprise you?" - -"You do, indeed, surprise me." - -"In the old story, my dear sir, Mentor sometimes surprised -Telemachus. I am Mentor--without being, I hope, quite so -long-winded as that respectable philosopher. Let me put it in two -words. Emily's happiness is precious to you. Take care you are -not made the means of wrecking it! Will you consent to a -sacrifice, for her sake?" - -"I will do anything for her sake." - -"Will you give up your inquiries?" - -"From this moment I have done with them!" - -"Mr. Morris, you are the best friend she has." - -"The next best friend to you, doctor." - -In that fond persuasion they now parted--too eagerly devoted to -Emily to look at the prospect before them in its least hopeful -aspect. Both clever men, neither one nor the other asked himself -if any human resistance has ever yet obstructed the progress of -truth--when truth has once begun to force its way to the light. - -For the second time Alban stopped, on his way home. The longing -to be reconciled with Emily was not to be resisted. He returned -to the cottage, only to find disappointment waiting for him. The -servant reported that her young mistress had gone to bed with a -bad headache. - -Alban waited a day, in the hope that Emily might write to him. No -letter arrived. He repeated his visit the next morning. Fortune -was still against him. On this occasion, Emily was engaged. - -"Engaged with a visitor?" he asked. - -"Yes, sir. A young lady named Miss de Sor." - -Where had he heard that name before? He remembered immediately -that he had heard it at the school. Miss de Sor was the -unattractive new pupil, whom the girls called Francine. Alban -looked at the parlor window as he left the cottage. It was of -serious importance that he should set himself right with Emily. -"And mere gossip," he thought contemptuously, "stands in my way!" - -If he had been less absorbed in his own interests, he might have -remembered that mere gossip is not always to be despised. It has -worked fatal mischief in its time. - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -FRANCINE. - -"You're surprised to see me, of course?" Saluting Emily in those -terms, Francine looked round the parlor with an air of satirical -curiosity. "Dear me, what a little place to live in!" - -"What brings you to London?" Emily inquired. - -"You ought to know, my dear, without asking. Why did I try to -make friends with you at school? And why have I been trying ever -since? Because I hate you--I mean because I can't resist you--no! -I mean because I hate myself for liking you. Oh, never mind my -reasons. I insisted on going to London with Miss Ladd--when that -horrid woman announced that she had an appointment with her -lawyer. I said, 'I want to see Emily.' 'Emily doesn't like you.' -'I don't care whether she likes me or not; I want to see her.' -That's the way we snap at each other, and that's how I always -carry my point. Here I am, till my duenna finishes her business -and fetches me. What a prospect for You! Have you got any cold -meat in the house? I'm not a glutton, like Cecilia--but I'm -afraid I shall want some lunch." - -"Don't talk in that way, Francine!" - -"Do you mean to say you're glad to see me?" - -"If you were only a little less hard and bitter, I should always -be glad to see you." - -"You darling! (excuse my impetuosity). What are you looking at? -My new dress? Do you envy me?" - -"No; I admire the color--that's all." - -Francine rose, and shook out her dress, and showed it from every -point of view. "See how it's made: Paris, of course! Money, my -dear; money will do anything--except making one learn one's -lessons." - -"Are you not getting on any better, Francine?" - -"Worse, my sweet friend--worse. One of the masters, I am happy to -say, has flatly refused to teach me any longer. 'Pupils without -brains I am accustomed to,' he said in his broken English; 'but a -pupil with no heart is beyond my endurance.' Ha! ha! the mouldy -old refugee has an eye for character, though. No heart--there I -am, described in two words." - -"And proud of it," Emily remarked. - -"Yes--proud of it. Stop! let me do myself justice. You consider -tears a sign that one has some heart, don't you? I was very near -crying last Sunday. A popular preacher did it; no less a person -that Mr. Mirabel--you look as if you had heard of him." - -"I have heard of him from Cecilia." - -"Is _she_ at Brighton? Then there's one fool more in a -fashionable watering place. Oh, she's in Switzerland, is she? I -don't care where she is; I only care about Mr. Mirabel. We all -heard he was at Brighton for his health, and was going to preach. -Didn't we cram the church! As to describing him, I give it up. He -is the only little man I ever admired--hair as long as mine, and -the sort of beard you see in pictures. I wish I had his fair -complexion and his white hands. We were all in love with him--or -with his voice, which was it?--when he began to read the -commandments. I wish I could imitate him when he came to the -fifth commandment. He began in his deepest bass voice: 'Honor thy -father--' He stopped and looked up to heaven as if he saw the -rest of it there. He went on with a tremendous emphasis on the -next word. '_And_ thy mother,' he said (as if that was quite a -different thing) in a tearful, fluty, quivering voice which was a -compliment to mothers in itself. We all felt it, mothers or not. -But the great sensation was when he got into the pulpit. The -manner in which he dropped on his knees, and hid his face in his -hands, and showed his beautiful rings was, as a young lady said -behind me, simply seraphic. We understood his celebrity, from -that moment--I wonder whether I can remember the sermon." - -"You needn't attempt it on my account," Emily said. - -"My dear, don't be obstinate. Wait till you hear him." - -"I am quite content to wait." - -"Ah, you're just in the right state of mind to be converted; -you're in a fair way to become one of his greatest admirers. They -say he is so agreeable in private life; I am dying to know -him.--Do I hear a ring at the bell? Is somebody else coming to -see you?" - -The servant brought in a card and a message. - -"The person will call again, miss." - -Emily looked at the name written on the card. - -"Mrs. Ellmother!" she exclaimed. - -"What an extraordinary name!' cried Francine. "Who is she?" - -"My aunt's old servant." - -"Does she want a situation?" - -Emily looked at some lines of writing at the back of the card. -Doctor Allday had rightly foreseen events. Rejected by the -doctor, Mrs. Ellmother had no alternative but to ask Emily to -help her. - -"If she is out of place," Francine went on, "she may be just the -sort of person I am looking for." - -"You?" Emily asked, in astonishment. - -Francine refused to explain until she got an answer to her -question. "Tell me first," she said, "is Mrs. Ellmother engaged?" - -"No; she wants an engagement, and she asks me to be her -reference." - -"Is she sober, honest, middle-aged, clean, steady, good-tempered, -industrious?" Francine rattled on. "Has she all the virtues, and -none of the vices? Is she not too good-looking, and has she no -male followers? In one terrible word--will she satisfy Miss -Ladd?" - -"What has Miss Ladd to do with it?" - -"How stupid you are, Emily! Do put the woman's card down on the -table, and listen to me. Haven't I told you that one of my -masters has declined to have anything more to do with me? Doesn't -that help you to understand how I get on with the rest of them? I -am no longer Miss Ladd's pupil, my dear. Thanks to my laziness -and my temper, I am to he raised to the dignity of 'a parlor -boarder.' In other words, I am to be a young lady who patronizes -the school; with a room of my own, and a servant of my own. All -pr ovided for by a private arrangement between my father and Miss -Ladd, before I left the West Indies. My mother was at the bottom -of it, I have not the least doubt. You don't appear to understand -me." - -"I don't, indeed!" - -Francine considered a little. "Perhaps they were fond of you at -home," she suggested. - -"Say they loved me, Francine--and I loved them." - -"Ah, my position is just the reverse of yours. Now they have got -rid of me, they don't want me back again at home. I know as well -what my mother said to my father, as if I had heard her. -'Francine will never get on at school, at her age. Try her, by -all means; but make some other arrangement with Miss Ladd in case -of a failure--or she will be returned on our hands like a bad -shilling.' There is my mother, my anxious, affectionate mother, -hit off to a T." - -"She _is_ your mother, Francine; don't forget that." - -"Oh, no; I won't forget it. My cat is my kitten's mother--there! -there! I won't shock your sensibilities. Let us get back to -matter of fact. When I begin my new life, Miss Ladd makes one -condition. My maid is to be a model of discretion--an elderly -woman, not a skittish young person who will only encourage me. I -must submit to the elderly woman, or I shall be sent back to the -West Indies after all. How long did Mrs. Ellmother live with your -aunt?" - -"Twenty-five years, and more.' - -"Good heavens, it's a lifetime! Why isn't this amazing creature -living with you, now your aunt is dead? Did you send her away?" - -"Certainly not." - -"Then why did she go?" - -"I don't know." - -"Do you mean that she went away without a word of explanation?" - -"Yes; that is exactly what I mean." - -"When did she go? As soon as your aunt was dead?" - -"That doesn't matter, Francine." - -"In plain English, you won't tell me? I am all on fire with -curiosity--and that's how you put me out! My dear, if you have -the slightest regard for me, let us have the woman in here when -she comes back for her answer. Somebody must satisfy me. I mean -to make Mrs. Ellmother explain herself." - -"I don't think you will succeed, Francine." - -"Wait a little, and you will see. By-the-by, it is understood -that my new position at the school gives me the privilege of -accepting invitations. Do you know any nice people to whom you -can introduce me?" - -"I am the last person in the world who has a chance of helping -you," Emily answered. "Excepting good Doctor Allday--" On the -point of adding the name of Alban Morris, she checked herself -without knowing why, and substituted the name of her -school-friend. "And not forgetting Cecilia," she resumed, "I know -nobody." - -"Cecilia's a fool," Francine remarked gravely; "but now I think -of it, she may be worth cultivating. Her father is a member of -Parliament--and didn't I hear that he has a fine place in the -country? You see, Emily, I may expect to be married (with my -money), if I can only get into good society. (Don't suppose I am -dependent on my father; my marriage portion is provided for in my -uncle's will. Cecilia may really be of some use to me. Why -shouldn't I make a friend of her, and get introduced to her -father--in the autumn, you know, when the house is full of -company? Have you any idea when she is coming back?" - -"No." - -"Do you think of writing to her?" - -"Of course!" - -"Give her my kind love; and say I hope she enjoys Switzerland." - -"Francine, you are positively shameless! After calling my dearest -friend a fool and a glutton, you send her your love for your own -selfish ends; and you expect me to help you in deceiving her! I -won't do it." - -"Keep your temper, my child. We are all selfish, you little -goose. The only difference is--some of us own it, and some of us -don't. I shall find my own way to Cecilia's good graces quite -easily: the way is through her mouth. You mentioned a certain -Doctor Allday. Does he give parties? And do the right sort of men -go to them? Hush! I think I hear the bell again. Go to the door, -and see who it is." - -Emily waited, without taking any notice of this suggestion. The -servant announced that "the person had called again, to know if -there was any answer." - -"Show her in here," Emily said. - -The servant withdrew, and came back again. - -"The person doesn't wish to intrude, miss; it will be quite -sufficient if you will send a message by me." - -Emily crossed the room to the door. - -"Come in, Mrs. Ellmother," she said. "You have been too long away -already. Pray come in." - - -CHAPTER XXIX - -"BONY." - -Mrs. Ellmother reluctantly entered the room. - -Since Emily had seen her last, her personal appearance doubly -justified the nickname by which her late mistress had -distinguished her. The old servant was worn and wasted; her gown -hung loose on her angular body; the big bones of her face stood -out, more prominently than ever. She took Emily's offered hand -doubtingly. "I hope I see you well, miss," she said--with hardly -a vestige left of her former firmness of voice and manner. - -"I am afraid you have been suffering from illness," Emily -answered gently. - -"It's the life I'm leading that wears me down; I want work and -change." - -Making that reply, she looked round, and discovered Francine -observing her with undisguised curiosity. "You have got company -with you," she said to Emily. "I had better go away, and come -back another time." - -Francine stopped her before she could open the door. "You mustn't -go away; I wish to speak to you." - -"About what, miss?" - -The eyes of the two women met--one, near the end of her life, -concealing under a rugged surface a nature sensitively -affectionate and incorruptibly true: the other, young in years, -with out the virtues of youth, hard in manner and hard at heart. -In silence on either side, they stood face to face; strangers -brought together by the force of circumstances, working -inexorably toward their hidden end. - -Emily introduced Mrs. Ellmother to Francine. "It may be worth -your while," she hinted, "to hear what this young lady has to -say." - -Mrs. Ellmother listened, with little appearance of interest in -anything that a stranger might have to say: her eyes rested on -the card which contained her written request to Emily. Francine, -watching her closely, understood what was passing in her mind. It -might be worth while to conciliate the old woman by a little act -of attention. Turning to Emily, Francine pointed to the card -lying on the table. "You have not attended yet to Mr. Ellmother's -request," she said. - -Emily at once assured Mrs. Ellmother that the request was -granted. "But is it wise," she asked, "to go out to service -again, at your age?" - -"I have been used to service all my life, Miss Emily--that's one -reason. And service may help me to get rid of my own -thoughts--that's another. If you can find me a situation -somewhere, you will be doing me a good turn." - -"Is it useless to suggest that you might come back, and live with -me?" Emily ventured to say. - -Mrs. Ellmother's head sank on her breast. "Thank you kindly, -miss; it _is_ useless." - -"Why is it useless?" Francine asked. - -Mrs. Ellmother was silent. - -"Miss de Sor is speaking to you," Emily reminded her. - -"Am I to answer Miss de Sor?" - -Attentively observing what passed, and placing her own -construction on looks and tones, it suddenly struck Francine that -Emily herself might be in Mrs. Ellmother's confidence, and that -she might have reasons of her own for assuming ignorance when -awkward questions were asked. For the moment at least, Francine -decided on keeping her suspicions to herself. - -"I may perhaps offer you the employment you want," she said to -Mrs. Ellmother. "I am staying at Brighton, for the present, with -the lady who was Miss Emily's schoolmistress, and I am in need of -a maid. Would you be willing to consider it, if I proposed to -engage you?" - -"Yes, miss." - -"In that case, you can hardly object to the customary inquiry. -Why did you leave your last place?" - -Mrs. Ellmother appealed to Emily. "Did you tell this young lady -how long I remained in my last place?" - -Melancholy remembrances had been revived in Emily by the turn -which the talk had now taken. Francine's cat-like patience, -stealthily feeling its way to its end, jarred on her nerves. -"Yes," she said; "in justice to you, I have mentioned your long -term of service." - -M rs. Ellmother addressed Francine. "You know, miss, that I -served my late mistress for over twenty-five years. Will you -please remember that--and let it be a reason for not asking me -why I left my place." - -Francine smiled compassionately. "My good creature, you have -mentioned the very reason why I _should_ ask. You live -five-and-twenty years with your mistress--and then suddenly leave -her--and you expect me to pass over this extraordinary proceeding -without inquiry. Take a little time to think." - -"I want no time to think. What I had in my mind, when I left Miss -Letitia, is something which I refuse to explain, miss, to you, or -to anybody." - -She recovered some of her old firmness, when she made that reply. -Francine saw the necessity of yielding--for the time at least, -Emily remained silent, oppressed by remembrance of the doubts and -fears which had darkened the last miserable days of her aunt's -illness. She began already to regret having made Francine and -Mrs. Ellmother known to each other. - -"I won't dwell on what appears to be a painful subject, "Francine -graciously resumed. "I meant no offense. You are not angry, I -hope?" - -"Sorry, miss. I might have been angry, at one time. That time is -over." - -It was said sadly and resignedly: Emily heard the answer. Her -heart ached as she looked at the old servant, and thought of the -contrast between past and present. With what a hearty welcome -this broken woman had been used to receive her in the bygone -holiday-time! Her eyes moistened. She felt the merciless -persistency of Francine, as if it had been an insult offered to -herself. "Give it up!" she said sharply. - -"Leave me, my dear, to manage my own business," Francine replied. -"About your qualifications?" she continued, turning coolly to -Mrs. Ellmother. "Can you dress hair?" - -"Yes." - -"I ought to tell you," Francine insisted, "that I am very -particular about my hair." - -"My mistress was very particular about her hair," Mrs. Ellmother -answered. - -"Are you a good needlewoman?" - -"As good as ever I was--with the help of my spectacles." - -Francine turned to Emily. "See how well we get on together. We -are beginning to understand each other already. I am an odd -creature, Mrs. Ellmother. Sometimes, I take sudden likings to -persons--I have taken a liking to you. Do you begin to think a -little better of me than you did? I hope you will produce the -right impression on Miss Ladd; you shall have every assistance -that I can give. I will beg Miss Ladd, as a favor to me, not to -ask you that one forbidden question." - -Poor Mrs. Ellmother, puzzled by the sudden appearance of Francine -in the character of an eccentric young lady, the creature of -genial impulse, thought it right to express her gratitude for the -promised interference in her favor. "That's kind of you, miss," -she said. - -"No, no, only just. I ought to tell you there's one thing Miss -Ladd is strict about--sweethearts. Are you quite sure," Francine -inquired jocosely, "that you can answer for yourself, in that -particular?" - -This effort of humor produced its intended effect. Mrs. -Ellmother, thrown off her guard, actually smiled. "Lord, miss, -what will you say next!" - -"My good soul, I will say something next that is more to the -purpose. If Miss Ladd asks me why you have so unaccountably -refused to be a servant again in this house, I shall take care to -say that it is certainly not out of dislike to Miss Emily." - -"You need say nothing of the sort," Emily quietly remarked. - -"And still less," Francine proceeded, without noticing the -interruption--"still less through any disagreeable remembrances -of Miss Emily's aunt." - -Mrs. Ellmother saw the trap that had been set for her. "It won't -do, miss," she said. - -"What won't do?" - -"Trying to pump me." - -Francine burst out laughing. Emily noticed an artificial ring in -her gayety which suggested that she was exasperated, rather than -amused, by the repulse which had baffled her curiosity once more. - -Mrs. Ellmother reminded the merry young lady that the proposed -arrangement between them had not been concluded yet. "Am I to -understand, miss, that you will keep a place open for me in your -service?" - -"You are to understand," Francine replied sharply, "that I must -have Miss Ladd's approval before I can engage you. Suppose you -come to Brighton? I will pay your fare, of course." - -"Never mind my fare, miss. Will you give up pumping?" - -"Make your mind easy. It's quite useless to attempt pumping -_you_. When will you come?" - -Mrs. Ellmother pleaded for a little delay. "I'm altering my -gowns," she said. "I get thinner and thinner--don't I, Miss -Emily? My work won't be done before Thursday." - -"Let us say Friday, then," Francine proposed. - -"Friday!" Mrs. Ellmother exclaimed. "You forget that Friday is an -unlucky day." - -"I forgot that, certainly! How can you be so absurdly -superstitious." - -"You may call it what you like, miss. I have good reason to think -as I do. I was married on a Friday--and a bitter bad marriage it -turned out to be. Superstitious, indeed! You don't know what my -experience has been. My only sister was one of a party of -thirteen at dinner; and she died within the year. If we are to -get on together nicely, I'll take that journey on Saturday, if -you please." - -"Anything to satisfy you," Francine agreed; "there is the -address. Come in the middle of the day, and we will give you your -dinner. No fear of our being thirteen in number. What will you -do, if you have the misfortune to spill the salt?" - -"Take a pinch between my finger and thumb, and throw it over my -left shoulder," Mrs. Ellmother answered gravely. "Good-day, -miss." - -"Good-day." - -Emily followed the departing visitor out to the hall. She had -seen and heard enough to decide her on trying to break off the -proposed negotiation--with the one kind purpose of protecting -Mrs. Ellmother against the pitiless curiosity of Francine. - -"Do you think you and that young lady are likely to get on well -together?" she asked. - -"I have told you already, Miss Emily, I want to get away from my -own home and my own thoughts; I don't care where I go, so long as -I do that." Having answered in those words, Mrs. Ellmother opened -the door, and waited a while, thinking. "I wonder whether the -dead know what is going on in the world they have left?" she -said, looking at Emily. "If they do, there's one among them knows -my thoughts, and feels for me. Good-by, miss--and don't think -worse of me than I deserve." - -Emily went back to the parlor. The only resource left was to -plead with Francine for mercy to Mrs. Ellmother. - -"Do you really mean to give it up?" she asked. - -"To give up--what? 'Pumping,' as that obstinate old creature -calls it?" - -Emily persisted. "Don't worry the poor old soul! However -strangely she may have left my aunt and me her motives are kind -and good--I am sure of that. Will you let her keep her harmless -little secret?" - -"Oh, of course!" - -"I don't believe you, Francine!" - -"Don't you? I am like Cecilia--I am getting hungry. Shall we have -some lunch?" - -"You hard-hearted creature!" - -"Does that mean--no luncheon until I have owned the truth? -Suppose _you_ own the truth? I won't tell Mrs. Ellmother that you -have betrayed her." - -"For the last time, Francine--I know no more of it than you do. -If you persist in taking your own view, you as good as tell me I -lie; and you will oblige me to leave the room." - -Even Francine's obstinacy was compelled to give way, so far as -appearances went. Still possessed by the delusion that Emily was -deceiving her, she was now animated by a stronger motive than -mere curiosity. Her sense of her own importance imperatively -urged her to prove that she was not a person who could be -deceived with impunity. - -"I beg your pardon," she said with humility. "But I must -positively have it out with Mrs. Ellmother. She has been more -than a match for me--my turn next. I mean to get the better of -her; and I shall succeed." - -"I have already told you, Francine--you will fail." - -"My dear, I am a dunce, and I don't deny it. But let me tell you -one thing. I haven't lived all my life in the West Indies, among -black servants, without learning something." - -"What do you mean?" - -"More, my clever friend, than you are likely to guess. In the -meantime, don't forget the duties of hospitality. Ring the bell -for luncheon." - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -LADY DORIS. - -The arrival of Miss Ladd, some time before she had been expected, -interrupted the two girls at a critical moment. She had hurried -over her business in London, eager to pass the rest of the day -with her favorite pupil. Emily's affectionate welcome was, in -some degree at least, inspired by a sensation of relief. To feel -herself in the embrace of the warm-hearted schoolmistress was -like finding a refuge from Francine. - -When the hour of departure arrived, Miss Ladd invited Emily to -Brighton for the second time. "On the last occasion, my dear, you -wrote me an excuse; I won't be treated in that way again. If you -can't return with us now, come to-morrow." She added in a -whisper, "Otherwise, I shall think you include _me_ in your -dislike of Francine." - -There was no resisting this. It was arranged that Emily should go -to Brighton on the next day. - -Left by herself, her thoughts might have reverted to Mrs. -Ellmother's doubtful prospects, and to Francine's strange -allusion to her life in the West Indies, but for the arrival of -two letters by the afternoon post. The handwriting on one of them -was unknown to her. She opened that one first. It was an answer -to the letter of apology which she had persisted in writing to -Mrs. Rook. Happily for herself, Alban's influence had not been -without its effect, after his departure. She had written -kindly--but she had written briefly at the same time. - -Mrs. Rook's reply presented a nicely compounded mixture of -gratitude and grief. The gratitude was addressed to Emily as a -matter of course. The grief related to her "excellent master." -Sir Jervis's strength had suddenly failed. His medical attendant, -being summoned, had expressed no surprise. "My patient is over -seventy years of age," the doctor remarked. "He will sit up late -at night, writing his book; and he refuses to take exercise, till -headache and giddiness force him to try the fresh air. As the -necessary result, he has broken down at last. It may end in -paralysis, or it may end in death." Reporting this expression of -medical opinion, Mrs. Rook's letter glided imperceptibly from -respectful sympathy to modest regard for her own interests in the -future. It might be the sad fate of her husband and herself to be -thrown on the world again. If necessity brought them to London, -would "kind Miss Emily grant her the honor of an interview, and -favor a poor unlucky woman with a word of advice?" - -"She may pervert your letter to some use of her own, which you -may have reason to regret." Did Emily remember Alban's warning -words? No: she accepted Mrs. Rook's reply as a gratifying tribute -to the justice of her own opinions. - -Having proposed to write to Alban, feeling penitently that she -had been in the wrong, she was now readier than ever to send him -a letter, feeling compassionately that she had been in the right. -Besides, it was due to the faithful friend, who was still working -for her in the reading room, that he should be informed of Sir -Jervis's illness. Whether the old man lived or whether he died, -his literary labors were fatally interrupted in either case; and -one of the consequences would be the termination of her -employment at the Museum. Although the second of the two letters -which she had received was addressed to her in Cecilia's -handwriting, Emily waited to read it until she had first written -to Alban. "He will come to-morrow," she thought; "and we shall -both make apologies. I shall regret that I was angry with him and -he will regret that he was mistaken in his judgment of Mrs. Rook. -We shall be as good friends again as ever." - -In this happy frame of mind she opened Cecilia's letter. It was -full of good news from first to last. - -The invalid sister had made such rapid progress toward recovery -that the travelers had arranged to set forth on their journey -back to England in a fortnight. "My one regret," Cecilia added, -"is the parting with Lady Doris. She and her husband are going to -Genoa, where they will embark in Lord Janeaway's yacht for a -cruise in the Mediterranean. When we have said that miserable -word good-by--oh, Emily, what a hurry I shall be in to get back -to you! Those allusions to your lonely life are so dreadful, my -dear, that I have destroyed your letter; it is enough to break -one's heart only to look at it. When once I get to London, there -shall be no more solitude for my poor afflicted friend. Papa will -be free from his parliamentary duties in August--and he has -promised to have the house full of delightful people to meet you. -Who do you think will be one of our guests? He is illustrious; he -is fascinating; he deserves a line all to himself, thus: - -"The Reverend Miles Mirabel! - -"Lady Doris has discovered that the country parsonage, in which -this brilliant clergyman submits to exile, is only twelve miles -away from our house. She has written to Mr. Mirabel to introduce -me, and to mention the date of my return. We will have some fun -with the popular preacher--we will both fall in love with him -together. - -"Is there anybody to whom you would like me to send an -invitation? Shall we have Mr. Alban Morris? Now I know how kindly -he took care of you at the railway station, your good opinion of -him is my opinion. Your letter also mentions a doctor. Is he -nice? and do you think he will let me eat pastry, if we have him -too? I am so overflowing with hospitality (all for your sake) -that I am ready to invite anybody, and everybody, to cheer you -and make you happy. Would you like to meet Miss Ladd and the -whole school? - -"As to our amusements, make your mind easy. - -"I have come to a distinct understanding with Papa that we are to -have dances every evening--except when we try a little concert as -a change. Private theatricals are to follow, when we want another -change after the dancing and the music. No early rising; no fixed -hour for breakfast; everything that is most exquisitely delicious -at dinner--and, to crown all, your room next to mine, for -delightful midnight gossipings, when we ought to be in bed. What -do you say, darling, to the programme? - -"A last piece of news--and I have done. - -"I have actually had a proposal of marriage, from a young -gentleman who sits opposite me at the table d'hote! When I tell -you that he has white eyelashes, and red hands, and such enormous -front teeth that he can't shut his mouth, you will not need to be -told that I refused him. This vindictive person has abused me -ever since, in the most shameful manner. I heard him last night, -under my window, trying to set one of his friends against me. -'Keep clear of her, my dear fellow; she's the most heartless -creature living.' The friend took my part; he said, 'I don't -agree with you; the young lady is a person of great sensibility.' -'Nonsense!' says my amiable lover; 'she eats too much--her -sensibility is all stomach.' There's a wretch for you. What a -shameful advantage to take of sitting opposite to me at dinner! -Good-by, my love, till we meet soon, and are as happy together as -the day is long." - -Emily kissed the signature. At that moment of all others, Cecilia -was such a refreshing contrast to Francine! - -Before putting the letter away, she looked again at that part of -it which mentioned Lady Doris's introduction of Cecilia to Mr. -Mirabel. "I don't feel the slightest interest in Mr. Mirabel," -she thought, smiling as the idea occurred to her; "and I need -never have known him, but for Lady Doris--who is a perfect -stranger to me." - -She had just placed the letter in her desk, when a visitor was -announced. Doctor Allday presented himself (in a hurry as usual). - -"Another patient waiting?" Emily asked mischievously. "No time to -spare, again?" - -"Not a moment," the old gentleman answered. "Have you heard from -Mrs. Ellmother?" - -"Yes." - -"You don't mean to say you have answered her?" - -"I have done better than that, doctor--I have seen her this -morning." - -"And consented to be her reference, of course?" - -"How well you know me!" - -Doctor Allday was a philosopher: he kept his temper. "Just what I -might have expected," he said. "Eve and the apple! Only forbid a -woman to do anything, and she does it directly--be cause you have -forbidden her. I'll try the other way with you now, Miss Emily. -There was something else that I meant to have forbidden." - -"What was it?" - -"May I make a special request?" - -"Certainly." - -"Oh, my dear, write to Mrs. Rook! I beg and entreat of you, write -to Mrs. Rook!" - -Emily's playful manner suddenly disappeared. - -Ignoring the doctor's little outbreak of humor, she waited in -grave surprise, until it was his pleasure to explain himself. - -Doctor Allday, on his side, ignored the ominous change in Emily; -he went on as pleasantly as ever. "Mr. Morris and I have had a -long talk about you, my dear. Mr. Morris is a capital fellow; I -recommend him as a sweetheart. I also back him in the matter of -Mrs. Rook.--What's the matter now? You're as red as a rose. -Temper again, eh?" - -"Hatred of meanness!" Emily answered indignantly. "I despise a -man who plots, behind my back, to get another man to help him. -Oh, how I have been mistaken in Alban Morris!" - -"Oh, how little you know of the best friend you have!" cried the -doctor, imitating her. "Girls are all alike; the only man they -can understand, is the man who flatters them. _Will_ you oblige -me by writing to Mrs. Rook?" - -Emily made an attempt to match the doctor, with his own weapons. -"Your little joke comes too late," she said satirically. "There -is Mrs. Rook's answer. Read it, and--" she checked herself, even -in her anger she was incapable of speaking ungenerously to the -old man who had so warmly befriended her. "I won't say to _you_," -she resumed, "what I might have said to another person." - -"Shall I say it for you?" asked the incorrigible doctor. "'Read -it, and be ashamed of yourself'--That was what you had in your -mind, isn't it? Anything to please you, my dear." He put on his -spectacles, read the letter, and handed it back to Emily with an -impenetrable countenance. "What do you think of my new -spectacles?" he asked, as he took the glasses off his nose. "In -the experience of thirty years, I have had three grateful -patients." He put the spectacles back in the case. "This comes -from the third. Very gratifying--very gratifying." - -Emily's sense of humor was not the uppermost sense in her at that -moment. She pointed with a peremptory forefinger to Mrs. Rook's -letter. "Have you nothing to say about this?" - -The doctor had so little to say about it that he was able to -express himself in one word: - -"Humbug!" - -He took his hat--nodded kindly to Emily--and hurried away to -feverish pulses waiting to be felt, and to furred tongues that -were ashamed to show themselves. - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -MOIRA. - -When Alban presented himself the next morning, the hours of the -night had exercised their tranquilizing influence over Emily. She -remembered sorrowfully how Doctor Allday had disturbed her belief -in the man who loved her; no feeling of irritation remained. -Alban noticed that her manner was unusually subdued; she received -him with her customary grace, but not with her customary smile. - -"Are you not well?" he asked. - -"I am a little out of spirits," she replied. "A -disappointment--that is all." - -He waited a moment, apparently in the expectation that she might -tell him what the disappointment was. She remained silent, and -she looked away from him. Was he in any way answerable for the -depression of spirits to which she alluded? The doubt occurred to -him--but he said nothing. - -"I suppose you have received my letter?" she resumed. - -"I have come here to thank you for your letter." - -"It was my duty to tell you of Sir Jervis's illness; I deserve no -thanks." - -"You have written to me so kindly," Alban reminded her; "you have -referred to our difference of opinion, the last time I was here, -so gently and so forgivingly--" - -"If I had written a little later," she interposed, "the tone of -my letter might have been less agreeable to you. I happened to -send it to the post, before I received a visit from a friend of -yours--a friend who had something to say to me after consulting -with you." - -"Do you mean Doctor Allday?" - -"Yes." - -"What did he say?" - -"What you wished him to say. He did his best; he was as obstinate -and unfeeling as you could possibly wish him to be; but he was -too late. I have written to Mrs. Rook, and I have received a -reply." She spoke sadly, not angrily--and pointed to the letter -lying on her desk. - -Alban understood: he looked at her in despair. "Is that wretched -woman doomed to set us at variance every time we meet!" he -exclaimed. - -Emily silently held out the letter. - -He refused to take it. "The wrong you have done me is not to be -set right in that way," he said. "You believe the doctor's visit -was arranged between us. I never knew that he intended to call on -you; I had no interest in sending him here--and I must not -interfere again between you and Mrs. Rook." - -"I don't understand you." - -"You will understand me when I tell you how my conversation with -Doctor Allday ended. I have done with interference; I have done -with advice. Whatever my doubts may be, all further effort on my -part to justify them--all further inquiries, no matter in what -direction--are at an end: I made the sacrifice, for your sake. -No! I must repeat what you said to me just now; I deserve no -thanks. What I have done, has been done in deference to Doctor -Allday--against my own convictions; in spite of my own fears. -Ridiculous convictions! ridiculous fears! Men with morbid minds -are their own tormentors. It doesn't matter how I suffer, so long -as you are at ease. I shall never thwart you or vex you again. -Have you a better opinion of me now?" - -She made the best of all answers--she gave him her hand. - -"May I kiss it?" he asked, as timidly as if he had been a boy -addressing his first sweetheart. - -She was half inclined to laugh, and half inclined to cry. "Yes, -if you like," she said softly. - -"Will you let me come and see you again?" - -"Gladly--when I return to London." - -"You are going away?" - -"I am going to Brighton this afternoon, to stay with Miss Ladd." - -It was hard to lose her, on the happy day when they understood -each other at last. An expression of disappointment passed over -his face. He rose, and walked restlessly to the window. "Miss -Ladd?" he repeated, turning to Emily as if an idea had struck -him. "Did I hear, at the school, that Miss de Sor was to spend -the holidays under the care of Miss Ladd?" - -"Yes." - -"The same young lady," he went on, "who paid you a visit -yesterday morning?" - -"The same." - -That haunting distrust of the future, which he had first betrayed -and then affected to ridicule, exercised its depressing influence -over his better sense. He was unreasonable enough to feel -doubtful of Francine, simply because she was a stranger. - -"Miss de Sor is a new friend of yours," he said. "Do you like -her?" - -It was not an easy question to answer--without entering into -particulars which Emily's delicacy of feeling warned her to -avoid. "I must know a little more of Miss de Sor," she said, -"before I can decide." - -Alban's misgivings were naturally encouraged by this evasive -reply. He began to regret having left the cottage, on the -previous day, when he had heard that Emily was engaged. He might -have sent in his card, and might have been admitted. It was an -opportunity lost of observing Francine. On the morning of her -first day at school, when they had accidentally met at the summer -house, she had left a disagreeable impression on his mind. Ought -he to allow his opinion to be influenced by this circumstance? or -ought he to follow Emily's prudent example, and suspend judgment -until he knew a little more of Francine? - -"Is any day fixed for your return to London?" he asked. - -"Not yet," she said; "I hardly know how long my visit will be." - -"In little more than a fortnight," he continued, "I shall return -to my classes--they will be dreary classes, without you. Miss de -Sor goes back to the school with Miss Ladd, I suppose?" - -Emily was at a loss to account for the depression in his looks -and tones, while he was making these unimportant inquiries. She -tried to rouse him by speaking lightly in reply. - -"Miss de Sor returns in quite a new character; she is to be a -guest instead of a pupil. Do you wish to be better acquainted -with her?" - -"Yes," he said grave ly, "now I know that she is a friend of -yours." He returned to his place near her. "A pleasant visit -makes the days pass quickly," he resumed. "You may remain at -Brighton longer than you anticipate; and we may not meet again -for some time to come. If anything happens--" - -"Do you mean anything serious?" she asked. - -"No, no! I only mean--if I can be of any service. In that case, -will you write to me?" - -"You know I will!" - -She looked at him anxiously. He had completely failed to hide -from her the uneasy state of his mind: a man less capable of -concealment of feeling never lived. "You are anxious, and out of -spirits," she said gently. "Is it my fault?" - -"Your fault? oh, don't think that! I have my dull days and my -bright days--and just now my barometer is down at dull." His -voice faltered, in spite of his efforts to control it; he gave up -the struggle, and took his hat to go. "Do you remember, Emily, -what I once said to you in the garden at the school? I still -believe there is a time of fulfillment to come in our lives." He -suddenly checked himself, as if there had been something more in -his mind to which he hesitated to give expression--and held out -his hand to bid her good-by. - -"My memory of what you said in the garden is better than yours," -she reminded him. "You said 'Happen what may in the interval, I -trust the future.' Do you feel the same trust still?" - -He sighed--drew her to him gently--and kissed her on the -forehead. Was that his own reply? She was not calm enough to ask -him the question: it remained in her thoughts for some time after -he had gone. - - . . . . . . . . - -On the same day Emily was at Brighton. - -Francine happened to be alone in the drawing-room. Her first -proceeding, when Emily was shown in, was to stop the servant. - -"Have you taken my letter to the post?" - -"Yes, miss." - -"It doesn't matter." She dismissed the servant by a gesture, and -burst into such effusive hospitality that she actually insisted -on kissing Emily. "Do you know what I have been doing?" she said. -"I have been writing to Cecilia--directing to the care of her -father, at the House of Commons. I stupidly forgot that you would -be able to give me the right address in Switzerland. You don't -object, I hope, to my making myself agreeable to our dear, -beautiful, greedy girl? It is of such importance to me to -surround myself with influential friends--and, of course, I have -given her your love. Don't look disgusted! Come, and see your -room.--Oh, never mind Miss Ladd. You will see her when she wakes. -Ill? Is that sort of old woman ever ill? She's only taking her -nap after bathing. Bathing in the sea, at her age! How she must -frighten the fishes!" - -Having seen her own bed-chamber, Emily was next introduced to the -room occupied by Francine. - -One object that she noticed in it caused her some little -surprise--not unmingled with disgust. She discovered on the -toilet-table a coarsely caricatured portrait of Mrs. Ellmother. -It was a sketch in pencil--wretchedly drawn; but spitefully -successful as a likeness. "I didn't know you were an artist," -Emily remarked, with an ironical emphasis on the last word. -Francine laughed scornfully--crumpled the drawing up in her -hand--and threw it into the waste-paper basket. - -"You satirical creature!" she burst out gayly. "If you had lived -a dull life at St. Domingo, you would have taken to spoiling -paper too. I might really have turned out an artist, if I had -been clever and industrious like you. As it was, I learned a -little drawing--and got tired of it. I tried modeling in wax--and -got tired of it. Who do you think was my teacher? One of our -slaves." - -"A slave!" Emily exclaimed. - -"Yes--a mulatto, if you wish me to be particular; the daughter of -an English father and a negro mother. In her young time (at least -she said so herself) she was quite a beauty, in her particular -style. Her master's favorite; he educated her himself. Besides -drawing and painting, and modeling in wax, she could sing and -play--all the accomplishments thrown away on a slave! When her -owner died, my uncle bought her at the sale of the property." - -A word of natural compassion escaped Emily--to Francine's -surprise. - -"Oh, my dear, you needn't pity her! Sappho (that was her name) -fetched a high price, even when she was no longer young. She came -to us, by inheritance, with the estates and the rest of it; and -took a fancy to me, when she found out I didn't get on well with -my father and mother. 'I owe it to _my_ father and mother,' she -used to say, 'that I am a slave. When I see affectionate -daughters, it wrings my heart.' Sappho was a strange compound. A -woman with a white side to her character, and a black side. For -weeks together, she would be a civilized being. Then she used to -relapse, and become as complete a negress as her mother. At the -risk of her life she stole away, on those occasions, into the -interior of the island, and looked on, in hiding, at the horrid -witchcrafts and idolatries of the blacks; they would have -murdered a half-blood, prying into their ceremonies, if they had -discovered her. I followed her once, so far as I dared. The -frightful yellings and drummings in the darkness of the forests -frightened me. The blacks suspected her, and it came to my ears. -I gave her the warning that saved her life (I don't know what I -should have done without Sappho to amuse me!); and, from that -time, I do believe the curious creature loved me. You see I can -speak generously even of a slave!" - -"I wonder you didn't bring her with you to England," Emily said. - -"In the first place," Francine answered, "she was my father's -property, not mine. In the second place, she's dead. Poisoned, as -the other half-bloods supposed, by some enemy among the blacks. -She said herself, she was under a spell!" - -"What did she mean?" - -Francine was not interested enough in the subject to explain. -"Stupid superstition, my dear. The negro side of Sappho was -uppermost when she was dying--there is the explanation. Be off -with you! I hear the old woman on the stairs. Meet her before she -can come in here. My bedroom is my only refuge from Miss Ladd." - -On the morning of the last day in the week, Emily had a little -talk in private with her old schoolmistress. Miss Ladd listened -to what she had to say of Mrs. Ellmother, and did her best to -relieve Emily's anxieties. "I think you are mistaken, my child, -in supposing that Francine is in earnest. It is her great fault -that she is hardly ever in earnest. You can trust to my -discretion; leave the rest to your aunt's old servant and to me." - -Mrs. Ellmother arrived, punctual to the appointed time. She was -shown into Miss Ladd's own room. Francine--ostentatiously -resolved to take no personal part in the affair--went for a walk. -Emily waited to hear the result. - -After a long interval, Miss Ladd returned to the drawing-room, -and announced that she had sanctioned the engagement of Mrs. -Ellmother. - -"I have considered your wishes, in this respect," she said. "It -is arranged that a week's notice, on either side, shall end the -term of service, after the first month. I cannot feel justified -in doing more than that. Mrs. Ellmother is such a respectable -woman; she is so well known to you, and she was so long in your -aunt's service, that I am bound to consider the importance of -securing a person who is exactly fitted to attend on such a girl -as Francine. In one word, I can trust Mrs. Ellmother." - -"When does she enter on her service?" Emily inquired. - -"On the day after we return to the school," Miss Ladd replied. -"You will be glad to see her, I am sure. I will send her here." - -"One word more before you go," Emily said. - -"Did you ask her why she left my aunt?" - -"My dear child, a woman who has been five-and-twenty years in one -place is entitled to keep her own secrets. I understand that she -had her reasons, and that she doesn't think it necessary to -mention them to anybody. Never trust people by halves--especially -when they are people like Mrs. Ellmother." - -It was too late now to raise any objections. Emily felt relieved, -rather than disappointed, on discovering that Mrs. Ellmother was -in a hurry to get back to London by the next train. Sh e had -found an opportunity of letting her lodgings; and she was eager -to conclude the bargain. "You see I couldn't say Yes," she -explained, "till I knew whether I was to get this new place or -not--and the person wants to go in tonight." - -Emily stopped her at the door. "Promise to write and tell me how -you get on with Miss de Sor." - -"You say that, miss, as if you didn't feel hopeful about me." - -"I say it, because I feel interested about you. Promise to -write." - -Mrs. Ellmother promised, and hastened away. Emily looked after -her from the window, as long as she was in view. "I wish I could -feel sure of Francine!" she said to herself. - -"In what way?" asked the hard voice of Francine, speaking at the -door. - -It was not in Emily's nature to shrink from a plain reply. She -completed her half-formed thought without a moment's hesitation. - -"I wish I could feel sure," she answered, "that you will be kind -to Mrs. Ellmother." - -"Are you afraid I shall make her life one scene of torment?" -Francine inquired. "How can I answer for myself? I can't look -into the future." - -"For once in your life, can you be in earnest?" Emily said. - -"For once in your life, can you take a joke?" Francine replied. - -Emily said no more. She privately resolved to shorten her visit -to Brighton. - - -BOOK THE THIRD--NETHERWOODS. - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -IN THE GRAY ROOM. - -The house inhabited by Miss Ladd and her pupils had been built, -in the early part of the present century, by a wealthy -merchant--proud of his money, and eager to distinguish himself as -the owner of the largest country seat in the neighborhood. - -After his death, Miss Ladd had taken Netherwoods (as the place -was called), finding her own house insufficient for the -accommodation of the increasing number of her pupils. A lease was -granted to her on moderate terms. Netherwoods failed to attract -persons of distinction in search of a country residence. The -grounds were beautiful; but no landed property--not even a -park--was attached to the house. Excepting the few acres on which -the building stood, the surrounding land belonged to a retired -naval officer of old family, who resented the attempt of a -merchant of low birth to assume the position of a gentleman. No -matter what proposals might be made to the admiral, he refused -them all. The privilege of shooting was not one of the -attractions offered to tenants; the country presented no -facilities for hunting; and the only stream in the neighborhood -was not preserved. In consequence of these drawbacks, the -merchant's representatives had to choose between a proposal to -use Netherwoods as a lunatic asylum, or to accept as tenant the -respectable mistress of a fashionable and prosperous school. They -decided in favor of Miss Ladd. - -The contemplated change in Francine's position was accomplished, -in that vast house, without inconvenience. There were rooms -unoccupied, even when the limit assigned to the number of pupils -had been reached. On the re-opening of the school, Francine was -offered her choice between two rooms on one of the upper stories, -and two rooms on the ground floor. She chose these last. - -Her sitting-room and bedroom, situated at the back of the house, -communicated with each other. The sitting-room, ornamented with a -pretty paper of delicate gray, and furnished with curtains of the -same color, had been accordingly named, "The Gray Room." It had a -French window, which opened on the terrace overlooking the garden -and the grounds. Some fine old engravings from the grand -landscapes of Claude (part of a collection of prints possessed by -Miss Ladd's father) hung on the walls. The carpet was in harmony -with the curtains; and the furniture was of light-colored wood, -which helped the general effect of subdued brightness that made -the charm of the room. "If you are not happy here," Miss Ladd -said, "I despair of you." And Francine answered, "Yes, it's very -pretty, but I wish it was not so small." - -On the twelfth of August the regular routine of the school was -resumed. Alban Morris found two strangers in his class, to fill -the vacancies left by Emily and Cecilia. Mrs. Ellmother was duly -established in her new place. She produced an unfavorable -impression in the servants' hall--not (as the handsome chief -housemaid explained) because she was ugly and old, but because -she was "a person who didn't talk." The prejudice against -habitual silence, among the lower order of the people, is almost -as inveterate as the prejudice against red hair. - -In the evening, on that first day of renewed studies--while the -girls were in the grounds, after tea--Francine had at last -completed the arrangement of her rooms, and had dismissed Mrs. -Ellmother (kept hard at work since the morning) to take a little -rest. Standing alone at her window, the West Indian heiress -wondered what she had better do next. She glanced at the girls on -the lawn, and decided that they were unworthy of serious notice, -on the part of a person so specially favored as herself. She -turned sidewise, and looked along the length of the terrace. At -the far end a tall man was slowly pacing to and fro, with his -head down and his hands in his pockets. Francine recognized the -rude drawing-master, who had torn up his view of the village, -after she had saved it from being blown into the pond. - -She stepped out on the terrace, and called to him. He stopped, -and looked up. - -"Do you want me?" he called back. - -"Of course I do!" - -She advanced a little to meet him, and offered encouragement -under the form of a hard smile. Although his manners might be -unpleasant, he had claims on the indulgence of a young lady, who -was at a loss how to employ her idle time. In the first place, he -was a man. In the second place, he was not as old as the -music-master, or as ugly as the dancing-master. In the third -place, he was an admirer of Emily; and the opportunity of trying -to shake his allegiance by means of a flirtation, in Emily's -absence, was too good an opportunity to be lost. - -"Do you remember how rude you were to me, on the day when you -were sketching in the summer-house?" Francine asked with snappish -playfulness. "I expect you to make yourself agreeable this -time--I am going to pay you a compliment." - -He waited, with exasperating composure, to hear what the proposed -compliment might be. The furrow between his eyebrows looked -deeper than ever. There were signs of secret trouble in that dark -face, so grimly and so resolutely composed. The school, without -Emily, presented the severest trial of endurance that he had -encountered, since the day when he had been deserted and -disgraced by his affianced wife. - -"You are an artist," Francine proceeded, "and therefore a person -of taste. I want to have your opinion of my sitting-room. -Criticism is invited; pray come in." - -He seemed to be unwilling to accept the invitation--then altered -his mind, and followed Francine. She had visited Emily; she was -perhaps in a fair way to become Emily's friend. He remembered -that he had already lost an opportunity of studying her -character, and--if he saw the necessity--of warning Emily not to -encourage the advances of Miss de Sor. - -"Very pretty," he remarked, looking round the room--without -appearing to care for anything in it, except the prints. - -Francine was bent on fascinating him. She raised her eyebrows and -lifted her hands, in playful remonstrance. "Do remember it's _my_ -room," she said, "and take some little interest in it, for _my_ -sake!" - -"What do you want me to say?" he asked. - -"Come and sit down by me." She made room for him on the sofa. Her -one favorite aspiration--the longing to excite envy in -others--expressed itself in her next words. "Say something -pretty," she answered; "say you would like to have such a room as -this." - -"I should like to have your prints," he remarked. "Will that do?" - -"It wouldn't do--from anybody else. Ah, Mr. Morris, I know why -you are not as nice as you might be! You are not happy. The -school has lost its one attraction, in losing our dear Emily. You -feel it--I know you feel it." She assisted this expression of -sympathy to produce the right effect by a sigh. "What would I not -give to inspire such devotion as yours! I don't envy Emily; I -only wish--" She pau sed in confusion, and opened her fan. "Isn't -it pretty?" she said, with an ostentatious appearance of changing -the subject. Alban behaved like a monster; he began to talk of -the weather. - -"I think this is the hottest day we have had," he said; "no -wonder you want your fan. Netherwoods is an airless place at this -season of the year." - -She controlled her temper. "I do indeed feel the heat," she -admitted, with a resignation which gently reproved him; "it is so -heavy and oppressive here after Brighton. Perhaps my sad life, -far away from home and friends, makes me sensitive to trifles. Do -you think so, Mr. Morris?" - -The merciless man said he thought it was the situation of the -house. - -"Miss Ladd took the place in the spring," he continued; "and only -discovered the one objection to it some months afterward. We are -in the highest part of the valley here--but, you see, it's a -valley surrounded by hills; and on three sides the hills are near -us. All very well in winter; but in summer I have heard of girls -in this school so out of health in the relaxing atmosphere that -they have been sent home again." - -Francine suddenly showed an interest in what he was saying. If he -had cared to observe her closely, he might have noticed it. - -"Do you mean that the girls were really ill?" she asked. - -"No. They slept badly--lost appetite--started at trifling noises. -In short, their nerves were out of order." - -"Did they get well again at home, in another air?" - -"Not a doubt of it," he answered, beginning to get weary of the -subject. "May I look at your books?" - -Francine's interest in the influence of different atmospheres on -health was not exhausted yet. "Do you know where the girls lived -when they were at home?" she inquired. - -"I know where one of them lived. She was the best pupil I ever -had--and I remember she lived in Yorkshire." He was so weary of -the idle curiosity--as it appeared to him--which persisted in -asking trifling questions, that he left his seat, and crossed the -room. "May I look at your books?" he repeated. - -"Oh, yes!" - -The conversation was suspended for a while. The lady thought, "I -should like to box his ears!" The gentleman thought, "She's only -an inquisitive fool after all!" His examination of her books -confirmed him in the delusion that there was really nothing in -Francine's character which rendered it necessary to caution Emily -against the advances of her new friend. Turning away from the -book-case, he made the first excuse that occurred to him for -putting an end to the interview. - -"I must beg you to let me return to my duties, Miss de Sor. I -have to correct the young ladies' drawings, before they begin -again to-morrow." - -Francine's wounded vanity made a last expiring attempt to steal -the heart of Emily's lover. - -"You remind me that I have a favor to ask," she said. "I don't -attend the other classes--but I should so like to join _your_ -class! May I?" She looked up at him with a languishing appearance -of entreaty which sorely tried Alban's capacity to keep his face -in serious order. He acknowledged the compliment paid to him in -studiously commonplace terms, and got a little nearer to the open -window. Francine's obstinacy was not conquered yet. - -"My education has been sadly neglected," she continued; "but I -have had some little instruction in drawing. You will not find me -so ignorant as some of the other girls." She waited a little, -anticipating a few complimentary words. Alban waited also--in -silence. "I shall look forward with pleasure to my lessons under -such an artist as yourself," she went on, and waited again, and -was disappointed again. "Perhaps," she resumed, "I may become -your favorite pupil--Who knows?" - -"Who indeed!" - -It was not much to say, when he spoke at last--but it was enough -to encourage Francine. She called him "dear Mr. Morris"; she -pleaded for permission to take her first lesson immediately; she -clasped her hands--"Please say Yes!" - -"I can't say Yes, till you have complied with the rules." - -"Are they _your_ rules?" - -Her eyes expressed the readiest submission--in that case. He -entirely failed to see it: he said they were Miss Ladd's -rules--and wished her good-evening. - -She watched him, walking away down the terrace. How was he paid? -Did he receive a yearly salary, or did he get a little extra -money for each new pupil who took drawing lessons? In this last -case, Francine saw her opportunity of being even with him "You -brute! Catch me attending your class!" - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - -RECOLLECTIONS OF ST. DOMINGO. - -The night was oppressively hot. Finding it impossible to sleep, -Francine lay quietly in her bed, thinking. The subject of her -reflections was a person who occupied the humble position of her -new servant. - -Mrs. Ellmother looked wretchedly ill. Mrs. Ellmother had told -Emily that her object, in returning to domestic service, was to -try if change would relieve her from the oppression of her own -thoughts. Mrs. Ellmother believed in vulgar superstitions which -declared Friday to be an unlucky day; and which recommended -throwing a pinch over your left shoulder, if you happened to -spill the salt. - -In themselves, these were trifling recollections. But they -assumed a certain importance, derived from the associations which -they called forth. - -They reminded Francine, by some mental process which she was at a -loss to trace, of Sappho the slave, and of her life at St. -Domingo. - -She struck a light, and unlocked her writing desk. From one of -the drawers she took out an old household account-book. - -The first page contained some entries, relating to domestic -expenses, in her own handwriting. They recalled one of her -efforts to occupy her idle time, by relieving her mother of the -cares of housekeeping. For a day or two, she had persevered--and -then she had ceased to feel any interest in her new employment. -The remainder of the book was completely filled up, in a -beautifully clear handwriting, beginning on the second page. A -title had been found for the manuscript by Francine. She had -written at the top of the page: _Sappho's Nonsense_. - -After reading the first few sentences she rapidly turned over the -leaves, and stopped at a blank space near the end of the book. -Here again she had added a title. This time it implied a -compliment to the writer: the page was headed: _Sappho's Sense_. - -She read this latter part of the manuscript with the closest -attention. - -"I entreat my kind and dear young mistress not to suppose that I -believe in witchcraft--after such an education as I have -received. When I wrote down, at your biding, all that I had told -you by word of mouth, I cannot imagine what delusion possessed -me. You say I have a negro side to my character, which I inherit -from my mother. Did you mean this, dear mistress, as a joke? I am -almost afraid it is sometimes not far off from the truth. - -"Let me be careful, however, to avoid leading you into a mistake. -It is really true that the man-slave I spoke of did pine and die, -after the spell had been cast on him by my witch-mother's image -of wax. But I ought also to have told you that circumstances -favored the working of the spell: the fatal end was not brought -about by supernatural means. - -"The poor wretch was not in good health at the time; and our -owner had occasion to employ him in the valley of the island far -inland. I have been told, and can well believe, that the climate -there is different from the climate on the coast--in which the -unfortunate slave had been accustomed to live. The overseer -wouldn't believe him when he said the valley air would be his -death--and the negroes, who might otherwise have helped him, all -avoided a man whom they knew to be under a spell. - -"This, you see, accounts for what might appear incredible to -civilized persons. If you will do me a favor, you will burn this -little book, as soon as you have read what I have written here. -If my request is not granted, I can only implore you to let no -eyes but your own see these pages. My life might be in danger if -the blacks knew what I have now told you, in the interests of -truth." - -Francine closed the book, and locked it up again in her desk. -"Now I know," she said to herself, "what reminded me of St. -Domingo." - -When Francine rang her bell the next morning, so long a time -elapsed without producing an answer that she began to think of -sending one of the house-servants to make inquiries. Before she -could decide, Mrs. Ellmother presented herself, and offered her -apologies. - -"It's the first time I have overslept myself, miss, since I was a -girl. Please to excuse me, it shan't happen again." - -"Do you find that the air here makes you drowsy?" Francine asked. - -Mrs. Ellmother shook her head. "I didn't get to sleep," she said, -"till morning, and so I was too heavy to be up in time. But air -has got nothing to do with it. Gentlefolks may have their whims -and fancies. All air is the same to people like me." - -"You enjoy good health, Mrs. Ellmother?" - -"Why not, miss? I have never had a doctor." - -"Oh! That's your opinion of doctors, is it?" - -"I won't have anything to do with them--if that's what you mean -by my opinion," Mrs. Ellmother answered doggedly. "How will you -have your hair done?" - -"The same as yesterday. Have you seen anything of Miss Emily? She -went back to London the day after you left us." - -"I haven't been in London. I'm thankful to say my lodgings are -let to a good tenant." - -"Then where have you lived, while you were waiting to come here?" - -"I had only one place to go to, miss; I went to the village where -I was born. A friend found a corner for me. Ah, dear heart, it's -a pleasant place, there!" - -"A place like this?" - -"Lord help you! As little like this as chalk is to cheese. A fine -big moor, miss, in Cumberland, without a tree in sight--look -where you may. Something like a wind, I can tell you, when it -takes to blowing there." - -"Have you never been in this part of the country?" - -"Not I! When I left the North, my new mistress took me to Canada. -Talk about air! If there was anything in it, the people in _that_ -air ought to live to be a hundred. I liked Canada." - -"And who was your next mistress?" - -Thus far, Mrs. Ellmother had been ready enough to talk. Had she -failed to hear what Francine had just said to her? or had she -some reason for feeling reluctant to answer? In any case, a -spirit of taciturnity took sudden possession of her--she was -silent. - -Francine (as usual) persisted. "Was your next place in service -with Miss Emily's aunt?" - -"Yes." - -"Did the old lady always live in London?" - -"No." - -"What part of the country did she live in?" - -"Kent." - -"Among the hop gardens?" - -"No." - -"In what other part, then?" - -"Isle of Thanet." - -"Near the sea coast?" - -"Yes." - -Even Francine could insist no longer: Mrs. Ellmother's reserve -had beaten her--for that day at least. "Go into the hall," she -said, "and see if there are any letters for me in the rack." - -There was a letter bearing the Swiss postmark. Simple Cecilia was -flattered and delighted by the charming manner in which Francine -had written to her. She looked forward with impatience to the -time when their present acquaintance might ripen into friendship. -Would "Dear Miss de Sor" waive all ceremony, and consent to be a -guest (later in the autumn) at her father's house? Circumstances -connected with her sister's health would delay their return to -England for a little while. By the end of the month she hoped to -be at home again, and to hear if Francine was disengaged. Her -address, in England, was Monksmoor Park, Hants. - -Having read the letter, Francine drew a moral from it: "There is -great use in a fool, when one knows how to manage her." - -Having little appetite for her breakfast, she tried the -experiment of a walk on the terrace. Alban Morris was right; the -air at Netherwoods, in the summer time, _was_ relaxing. The -morning mist still hung over the lowest part of the valley, -between the village and the hills beyond. A little exercise -produced a feeling of fatigue. Francine returned to her room, and -trifled with her tea and toast. - -Her next proceeding was to open her writing-desk, and look into -the old account-book once more. While it lay open on her lap, she -recalled what had passed that morning, between Mrs. Ellmother and -herself. - -The old woman had been born and bred in the North, on an open -moor. She had been removed to the keen air of Canada when she -left her birthplace. She had been in service after that, on the -breezy eastward coast of Kent. Would the change to the climate of -Netherwoods produce any effect on Mrs. Ellmother? At her age, and -with her seasoned constitution, would she feel it as those -school-girls had felt it--especially that one among them, who -lived in the bracing air of the North, the air of Yorkshire? - -Weary of solitary thinking on one subject, Francine returned to -the terrace with a vague idea of finding something to amuse -her--that is to say, something she could turn into ridicule--if -she joined the girls. - -The next morning, Mrs. Ellmother answered her mistress's bell -without delay. "You have slept better, this time?" Francine said. - -"No, miss. When I did get to sleep I was troubled by dreams. -Another bad night--and no mistake!" - -"I suspect your mind is not quite at ease," Francine suggested. - -"Why do you suspect that, if you please?" - -"You talked, when I met you at Miss Emily's, of wanting to get -away from your own thoughts. Has the change to this place helped -you?" - -"It hasn't helped me as I expected. Some people's thoughts stick -fast." - -"Remorseful thoughts?" Francine inquired. - -Mrs. Ellmother held up her forefinger, and shook it with a -gesture of reproof. "I thought we agreed, miss, that there was to -be no pumping." - -The business of the toilet proceeded in silence. - -A week passed. During an interval in the labors of the school, -Miss Ladd knocked at the door of Francine's room. - -"I want to speak to you, my dear, about Mrs. Ellmother. Have you -noticed that she doesn't seem to be in good health?" - -"She looks rather pale, Miss Ladd." - -"It's more serious than that, Francine. The servants tell me that -she has hardly any appetite. She herself acknowledges that she -sleeps badly. I noticed her yesterday evening in the garden, -under the schoolroom window. One of the girls dropped a -dictionary. She started at that slight noise, as if it terrified -her. Her nerves are seriously out of order. Can you prevail upon -her to see the doctor?" - -Francine hesitated--and made an excuse. "I think she would be -much more likely, Miss Ladd, to listen to you. Do you mind -speaking to her?" - -"Certainly not!" - -Mrs. Ellmother was immediately sent for. "What is your pleasure, -miss?" she said to Francine. - -Miss Ladd interposed. "It is I who wish to speak to you, Mrs. -Ellmother. For some days past, I have been sorry to see you -looking ill." - -"I never was ill in my life, ma'am." - -Miss Ladd gently persisted. "I hear that you have lost your -appetite." - -"I never was a great eater, ma'am." - -It was evidently useless to risk any further allusion to Mrs. -Ellmother's symptoms. Miss Ladd tried another method of -persuasion. "I daresay I may be mistaken," she said; "but I do -really feel anxious about you. To set my mind at rest, will you -see the doctor?" - -"The doctor! Do you think I'm going to begin taking physic, at my -time of life? Lord, ma'am! you amuse me--you do indeed!" She -burst into a sudden fit of laughter; the hysterical laughter -which is on the verge of tears. With a desperate effort, she -controlled herself. "Please, don't make a fool of me again," she -said--and left the room. - -"What do you think now?" Miss Ladd asked. - -Francine appeared to be still on her guard. - -"I don't know what to think," she said evasively. - -Miss Ladd looked at her in silent surprise, and withdrew. - -Left by herself, Francine sat with her elbows on the table and -her face in her hands, absorbed in thought. After a long -interval, she opened her desk--and hesitated. She took a sheet of -note-paper--and paused, as if still in doubt. She snatched up her -pen, with a sudden recovery of resolution--and addressed these -lines to the wife of her father's agent in London: - -"When I was placed under your care, on the night of my arrival -from the West Indies, you kindly said I might ask you for any -little service which might be within your power. I shall be -greatly obliged if you can obtain for me, and send to this place, -a supply of artists' modeling wax--sufficient for the product ion -of a small image." - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - -IN THE DARK. - -A week later, Alban Morris happened to be in Miss Ladd's study, -with a report to make on the subject of his drawing-class. Mrs. -Ellmother interrupted them for a moment. She entered the room to -return a book which Francine had borrowed that morning. - -"Has Miss de Sor done with it already?" Miss Ladd asked. - -"She won't read it, ma'am. She says the leaves smell of -tobacco-smoke." - -Miss Ladd turned to Alban, and shook her head with an air of -good-humored reproof. "I know who has been reading that book -last!" she said. - -Alban pleaded guilty, by a look. He was the only master in the -school who smoked. As Mrs. Ellmother passed him, on her way out, -he noticed the signs of suffering in her wasted face. - -"That woman is surely in a bad state of health," he said. "Has -she seen the doctor?" - -"She flatly refuses to consult the doctor," Miss Ladd replied. -"If she was a stranger, I should meet the difficulty by telling -Miss de Sor (whose servant she is) that Mrs. Ellmother must be -sent home. But I cannot act in that peremptory manner toward a -person in whom Emily is interested." - -From that moment Mrs. Ellmother became a person in whom Alban was -interested. Later in the day, he met her in one of the lower -corridors of the house, and spoke to her. "I am afraid the air of -this place doesn't agree with you," he said. - -Mrs. Ellmother's irritable objection to being told (even -indirectly) that she looked ill, expressed itself roughly in -reply. "I daresay you mean well, sir--but I don't see how it -matters to you whether the place agrees with me or not." - -"Wait a minute," Alban answered good-humoredly. "I am not quite a -stranger to you." - -"How do you make that out, if you please?" - -"I know a young lady who has a sincere regard for you." - -"You don't mean Miss Emily?" - -"Yes, I do. I respect and admire Miss Emily; and I have tried, in -my poor way, to be of some little service to her." - -Mrs. Ellmother's haggard face instantly softened. "Please to -forgive me, sir, for forgetting my manners," she said simply. "I -have had my health since the day I was born--and I don't like to -be told, in my old age, that a new place doesn't agree with me." - -Alban accepted this apology in a manner which at once won the -heart of the North-countrywoman. He shook hands with her. "You're -one of the right sort," she said; "there are not many of them in -this house." - -Was she alluding to Francine? Alban tried to make the discovery. -Polite circumlocution would be evidently thrown away on Mrs. -Ellmother. "Is your new mistress one of the right sort?" he asked -bluntly. - -The old servant's answer was expressed by a frowning look, -followed by a plain question. - -"Do you say that, sir, because you like my new mistress?" - -"No." - -"Please to shake hands again!" She said it--took his hand with a -sudden grip that spoke for itself-- and walked away. - -Here was an exhibition of character which Alban was just the man -to appreciate. "If I had been an old woman," he thought in his -dryly humorous way, "I believe I should have been like Mrs. -Ellmother. We might have talked of Emily, if she had not left me -in such a hurry. When shall I see her again?" - -He was destined to see her again, that night--under circumstances -which he remembered to the end of his life. - -The rules of Netherwoods, in summer time, recalled the young -ladies from their evening's recreation in the grounds at nine -o'clock. After that hour, Alban was free to smoke his pipe, and -to linger among trees and flower-beds before he returned to his -hot little rooms in the village. As a relief to the drudgery of -teaching the young ladies, he had been using his pencil, when the -day's lessons were over, for his own amusement. It was past ten -o'clock before he lighted his pipe, and began walking slowly to -and fro on the path which led to the summer-house, at the -southern limit of the grounds. - -In the perfect stillness of the night, the clock of the village -church was distinctly audible, striking the hours and the -quarters. The moon had not risen; but the mysterious glimmer of -starlight trembled on the large open space between the trees and -the house. - -Alban paused, admiring with an artist's eye the effect of light, -so faintly and delicately beautiful, on the broad expanse of the -lawn. "Does the man live who could paint that?" he asked himself. -His memory recalled the works of the greatest of all landscape -painters--the English artists of fifty years since. While -recollections of many a noble picture were still passing through -his mind, he was startled by the sudden appearance of a -bareheaded woman on the terrace steps. - -She hurried down to the lawn, staggering as she ran--stopped, and -looked back at the house--hastened onward toward the -trees--stopped again, looking backward and forward, uncertain -which way to turn next--and then advanced once more. He could now -hear her heavily gasping for breath. As she came nearer, the -starlight showed a panic-stricken face--the face of Mrs. -Ellmother. - -Alban ran to meet her. She dropped on the grass before he could -cross the short distance which separated them. As he raised her -in his arms she looked at him wildly, and murmured and muttered -in the vain attempt to speak. "Look at me again," he said. "Don't -you remember the man who had some talk with you to-day?" She -still stared at him vacantly: he tried again. "Don't you remember -Miss Emily's friend?" - -As the name passed his lips, her mind in some degree recovered -its balance. "Yes," she said; "Emily's friend; I'm glad I have -met with Emily's friend." She caught at Alban's arm--starting as -if her own words had alarmed her. "What am I talking about? Did I -say 'Emily'? A servant ought to say 'Miss Emily.' My head swims. -Am I going mad?" - -Alban led her to one of the garden chairs. "You're only a little -frightened," he said. "Rest, and compose yourself." - -She looked over her shoulder toward the house. "Not here! I've -run away from a she-devil; I want to be out of sight. Further -away, Mister--I don't know your name. Tell me your name; I won't -trust you, unless you tell me your name!" - -"Hush! hush! Call me Alban." - -"I never heard of such a name; I won't trust you." - -"You won't trust your friend, and Emily's friend? You don't mean -that, I'm sure. Call me by my other name--call me 'Morris.'" - -"Morris?" she repeated. "Ah, I've heard of people called -'Morris.' Look back! Your eyes are young--do you see her on the -terrace?" - -"There isn't a living soul to be seen anywhere." - -With one hand he raised her as he spoke--and with the other he -took up the chair. In a minute more, they were out of sight of -the house. He seated her so that she could rest her head against -the trunk of a tree. - -"What a good fellow!" the poor old creature said, admiring him; -"he knows how my head pains me. Don't stand up! You're a tall -man. She might see you." - -"She can see nothing. Look at the trees behind us. Even the -starlight doesn't get through them." - -Mrs. Ellmother was not satisfied yet. "You take it coolly," she -said. "Do you know who saw us together in the passage to-day? You -good Morris, _she_ saw us--she did. Wretch! Cruel, cunning, -shameless wretch." - -In the shadows that were round them, Alban could just see that -she was shaking her clinched fists in the air. He made another -attempt to control her. "Don't excite yourself! If she comes into -the garden, she might hear you." - -The appeal to her fears had its effect. - -"That's true," she said, in lowered tones. A sudden distrust of -him seized her the next moment. "Who told me I was excited?" she -burst out. "It's you who are excited. Deny it if you dare; I -begin to suspect you, Mr. Morris; I don't like your conduct. What -has become of your pipe? I saw you put your pipe in your coat -pocket. You did it when you set me down among the trees where -_she_ could see me! You are in league with her--she is coming to -meet you here--you know she doesnÕt like tobacco-smoke. Are you -two going to put me in the madhouse?" - -She started to her feet. It occurred to Alban that the speediest -way of pacifying her might be by means of the pipe. Mere words -would exercise no persuasive influence over that bewildered mind. -Insta nt action, of some kind, would be far more likely to have -the right effect. He put his pipe and his tobacco pouch into her -hands, and so mastered her attention before he spoke. - -"Do you know how to fill a man's pipe for him?" he asked. - -"Haven't I filled my husband's pipe hundreds of times?" she -answered sharply. - -"Very well. Now do it for me." - -She took her chair again instantly, and filled the pipe. He -lighted it, and seated himself on the grass, quietly smoking. "Do -you think I'm in league with her now?" he asked, purposely -adopting the rough tone of a man in her own rank of life. - -She answered him as she might have answered her husband, in the -days of her unhappy marriage. - -"Oh, don't gird at me, there's a good man! If I've been off my -head for a minute or two, please not to notice me. It's cool and -quiet here," the poor woman said gratefully. "Bless God for the -darkness; there's something comforting in the darkness--along -with a good man like you. Give me a word of advice. You are my -friend in need. What am I to do? I daren't go back to the house!" - -She was quiet enough now, to suggest the hope that she might be -able to give Alban some information "Were you with Miss de Sor," -he asked, "before you came out here? What did she do to frighten -you?' - -There was no answer; Mrs. Ellmother had abruptly risen once more. -"Hush!" she whispered. "Don't I hear somebody near us?" - -Alban at once went back, along the winding path which they had -followed. No creature was visible in the gardens or on the -terrace. On returning, he found it impossible to use his eyes to -any good purpose in the obscurity among the trees. He waited a -while, listening intently. No sound was audible: there was not -even air enough to stir the leaves. - -As he returned to the place that he had left, the silence was -broken by the chimes of the distant church clock, striking the -three-quarters past ten. - -Even that familiar sound jarred on Mrs. Ellmother's shattered -nerves. In her state of mind and body, she was evidently at the -mercy of any false alarm which might be raised by her own fears. -Relieved of the feeling of distrust which had thus far troubled -him, Alban sat down by her again--opened his match-box to relight -his pipe--and changed his mind. Mrs. Ellmother had unconsciously -warned him to be cautious. - -For the first time, he thought it likely that the heat in the -house might induce some of the inmates to try the cooler -atmosphere in the grounds. If this happened, and if he continued -to smoke, curiosity might tempt them to follow the scent of -tobacco hanging on the stagnant air. - -"Is there nobody near us?" Mrs. Ellmother asked. "Are you sure?" - -"Quite sure. Now tell me, did you really mean it, when you said -just now that you wanted my advice?" - -"Need you ask that, sir? Who else have I got to help me?" - -"I am ready and willing to help you--but I can't do it unless I -know first what has passed between you and Miss de Sor. Will you -trust me?" - -"I will!" - -"May I depend on you?" - -"Try me!" - - -CHAPTER XXXV. - -THE TREACHERY OF THE PIPE. - -Alban took Mrs. Ellmother at her word. "I am going to venture on -a guess," he said. "You have been with Miss de Sor to-night." - -"Quite true, Mr. Morris." - -"I am going to guess again. Did Miss de Sor ask you to stay with -her, when you went into her room?" - -"That's it! She rang for me, to see how I was getting on with my -needlework--and she was what I call hearty, for the first time -since I have been in her service. I didn't think badly of her -when she first talked of engaging me; and I've had reason to -repent of my opinion ever since. Oh, she showed the cloven foot -to-night! 'Sit down,' she says; 'I've nothing to read, and I hate -work; let's have a little chat.' She's got a glib tongue of her -own. All I could do was to say a word now and then to keep her -going. She talked and talked till it was time to light the lamp. -She was particular in telling me to put the shade over it. We -were half in the dark, and half in the light. She trapped me -(Lord knows how!) into talking about foreign parts; I mean the -place she lived in before they sent her to England. Have you -heard that she comes from the West lndies?" - -"Yes; I have heard that. Go on." - -"Wait a bit, sir. There's something, by your leave, that I want -to know. Do you believe in Witchcraft?" - -"I know nothing about it. Did Miss de Sor put that question to -you?" - -"She did." - -"And how did you answer?" - -"Neither in one way nor the other. I'm in two minds about that -matter of Witchcraft. When I was a girl, there was an old woman -in our village, who was a sort of show. People came to see her -from all the country round--gentlefolks among them. It was her -great age that made her famous. More than a hundred years old, -sir! One of our neighbors didn't believe in her age, and she -heard of it. She cast a spell on his flock. I tell you, she sent -a plague on his sheep, the plague of the Bots. The whole flock -died; I remember it well. Some said the sheep would have had the -Bots anyhow. Some said it was the spell. Which of them was right? -How am I to settle it?" - -"Did you mention this to Miss de Sor?" - -"I was obliged to mention it. Didn't I tell you, just now, that I -can't make up my mind about Witchcraft? 'You don't seem to know -whether you believe or disbelieve,' she says. It made me look -like a fool. I told her I had my reasons, and then I was obliged -to give them." - -"And what did she do then?" - -"She said, 'I've got a better story of Witchcraft than yours.' -And she opened a little book, with a lot of writing in it, and -began to read. Her story made my flesh creep. It turns me cold, -sir, when I think of it now." - -He heard her moaning and shuddering. Strongly as his interest was -excited, there was a compassionate reluctance in him to ask her -to go on. His merciful scruples proved to be needless. The -fascination of beauty it is possible to resist. The fascination -of horror fastens its fearful hold on us, struggle against it as -we may. Mrs. Ellmother repeated what she had heard, in spite of -herself. - -"It happened in the West Indies," she said; "and the writing of a -woman slave was the writing in the little book. The slave wrote -about her mother. Her mother was a black--a Witch in her own -country. There was a forest in her own country. The devil taught -her Witchcraft in the forest. The serpents and the wild beasts -were afraid to touch her. She lived without eating. She was sold -for a slave, and sent to the island--an island in the West -Indies. An old man lived there; the wickedest man of them all. He -filled the black Witch with devilish knowledge. She learned to -make the image of wax. The image of wax casts spells. You put -pins in the image of wax. At every pin you put, the person under -the spell gets nearer and nearer to death. There was a poor black -in the island. He offended the Witch. She made his image in wax; -she cast spells on him. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't eat; he -was such a coward that common noises frightened him. Like Me! Oh, -God, like me!" - -"Wait a little," Alban interposed. "You are exciting yourself -again--wait." - -"You're wrong, sir! You think it ended when she finished her -story, and shut up her book; there's worse to come than anything -you've heard yet. I don't know what I did to offend her. She -looked at me and spoke to me, as if I was the dirt under her -feet. 'If you're too stupid to understand what I have been -reading,' she says, 'get up and go to the glass. Look at -yourself, and remember what happened to the slave who was under -the spell. You're getting paler and paler, and thinner and -thinner; you're pining away just as he did. Shall I tell you -why?' She snatched off the shade from the lamp, and put her hand -under the table, and brought out an image of wax. _My_ image! She -pointed to three pins in it. 'One,' she says, 'for no sleep. One -for no appetite. One for broken nerves.' I asked her what I had -done to make such a bitter enemy of her. She says, 'Remember what -I asked of you when we talked of your being my servant. Choose -which you will do? Die by inches' (I swear she said it as I hope -to be saved); 'die by inches, or tell me--'" - -There--in the full frenzy of the agitation that possessed - her--there, Mrs. Ellmother suddenly stopped. - -Alban's first impression was that she might have fainted. He -looked closer, and could just see her shadowy figure still seated -in the chair. He asked if she was ill. No. - -"Then why don't you go on?" - -"I have done," she answered. - -"Do you think you can put me off," he rejoined sternly, "with -such an excuse as that? What did Miss de Sor ask you to tell her? -You promised to trust me. Be as good as your word." - -In the days of her health and strength, she would have set him at -defiance. All she could do now was to appeal to his mercy. - -"Make some allowance for me," she said. "I have been terribly -upset. What has become of my courage? What has broken me down in -this way? Spare me, sir." - -He refused to listen. "This vile attempt to practice on your -fears may be repeated," he reminded her. "More cruel advantage -may be taken of the nervous derangement from which you are -suffering in the climate of this place. You little know me, if -you think I will allow that to go on." - -She made a last effort to plead with him. "Oh sir, is this -behaving like the good kind man I thought you were? You say you -are Miss Emily's friend? Don't press me--for Miss Emily's sake!" - -"Emily!" Alban exclaimed. "Is _she_ concerned in this?" - -There was a change to tenderness in his voice, which persuaded -Mrs. Ellmother that she had found her way to the weak side of -him. Her one effort now was to strengthen the impression which -she believed herself to have produced. "Miss Emily _is_ concerned -in it," she confessed. - -"In what way?" - -"Never mind in what way." - -"But I do mind." - -"I tell you, sir, Miss Emily must never know it to her dying -day!" - -The first suspicion of the truth crossed Alban's mind. - -"I understand you at last," he said. "What Miss Emily must never -know--is what Miss de Sor wanted you to tell her. Oh, it's -useless to contradict me! Her motive in trying to frighten you is -as plain to me now as if she had confessed it. Are you sure you -didn't betray yourself, when she showed the image of wax?" - -"I should have died first!" The reply had hardly escaped her -before she regretted it. "What makes you want to be so sure about -it?" she said. "It looks as if you knew--" - -"I do know." - -"What!" - -The kindest thing that he could do now was to speak out. "Your -secret is no secret to _me_," he said. - -Rage and fear shook her together. For the moment she was like the -Mrs. Ellmother of former days. "You lie!" she cried. - -"I speak the truth." - -"I won't believe you! I daren't believe you!" - -"Listen to me. In Emily's interests, listen to me. I have read of -the murder at Zeeland--" - -"That's nothing! The man was a namesake of her father." - -"The man was her father himself. Keep your seat! There is nothing -to be alarmed about. I know that Emily is ignorant of the horrid -death that her father died. I know that you and your late -mistress have kept the discovery from her to this day. I know the -love and pity which plead your excuse for deceiving her, and the -circumstances that favored the deception. My good creature, -Emily's peace of mind is as sacred to me as it is to you! I love -her as I love my own life--and better. Are you calmer, now?" - -He heard her crying: it was the best relief that could come to -her. After waiting a while to let the tears have their way, he -helped her to rise. There was no more to be said now. The one -thing to do was to take her back to the house. - -"I can give you a word of advice," he said, "before we part for -the night. You must leave Miss de Sor's service at once. Your -health will be a sufficient excuse. Give her warning -immediately." - -Mrs. Ellmother hung back, when he offered her his arm. The bare -prospect of seeing Francine again was revolting to her. On -Alban's assurance that the notice to leave could be given in -writing, she made no further resistance. The village clock struck -eleven as they ascended the terrace steps. - -A minute later, another person left the grounds by the path which -led to the house. Alban's precaution had been taken too late. The -smell of tobacco-smoke had guided Francine, when she was at a -loss which way to turn next in search of Mrs. Ellmother. For the -last quarter of an hour she had been listening, hidden among the -trees. - - -CHAPTER XXXVI. - -CHANGE OF AIR. - -The inmates of Netherwoods rose early, and went to bed early. -When Alban and Mrs. Ellmother arrived at the back door of the -house, they found it locked. - -The only light visible, along the whole length of the building, -glimmered through the Venetian blind of the window-entrance to -Francine's sitting-room. Alban proposed to get admission to the -house by that way. In her horror of again encountering Francine, -Mrs. Ellmother positively refused to follow him when he turned -away from the door. "They can't be all asleep yet," she said--and -rang the bell. - -One person was still out of bed--and that person was the mistress -of the house. They recognized her voice in the customary -question: "Who's there?" The door having been opened, good Miss -Ladd looked backward and forward between Alban and Mrs. -Ellmother, with the bewildered air of a lady who doubted the -evidence of her own eyes. The next moment, her sense of humor -overpowered her. She burst out laughing. - -"Close the door, Mr. Morris," she said, "and be so good as to -tell me what this means. Have you been giving a lesson in drawing -by starlight?" - -Mrs. Ellmother moved, so that the light of the lamp in Miss -Ladd's hand fell on her face. "I am faint and giddy," she said; -"let me go to my bed." - -Miss Ladd instantly followed her. "Pray forgive me! I didn't see -you were ill, when I spoke," she gently explained. "What can I do -for you?" - -"Thank you kindly, ma'am. I want nothing but peace and quiet. I -wish you good-night." - -Alban followed Miss Ladd to her study, on the front side of the -house. He had just mentioned the circumstances under which he and -Mrs. Ellmother had met, when they were interrupted by a tap at -the door. Francine had got back to her room unperceived, by way -of the French window. She now presented herself, with an -elaborate apology, and with the nearest approach to a penitent -expression of which her face was capable. - -"I am ashamed, Miss Ladd, to intrude on you at this time of -night. My only excuse is, that I am anxious about Mrs. Ellmother. -I heard you just now in the hall. If she is really ill, I am the -unfortunate cause of it." - -"In what way, Miss de Sor?" - -"I am sorry to say I frightened her--while we were talking in my -room--quite unintentionally. She rushed to the door and ran out. -I supposed she had gone to her bedroom; I had no idea she was in -the grounds." - -In this false statement there was mingled a grain of truth. It -was true that Francine believed Mrs. Ellmother to have taken -refuge in her room--for she had examined the room. Finding it -empty, and failing to discover the fugitive in other parts of the -house, she had become alarmed, and had tried the grounds -next--with the formidable result which has been already related. -Concealing this circumstance, she had lied in such a skillfully -artless manner that Alban (having no suspicion of what had really -happened to sharpen his wits) was as completely deceived as Miss -Ladd. Proceeding to further explanation--and remembering that she -was in Alban's presence--Francine was careful to keep herself -within the strict limit of truth. Confessing that she had -frightened her servant by a description of sorcery, as it was -practiced among the slaves on her father's estate, she only lied -again, in declaring that Mrs. Ellmother had supposed she was in -earnest, when she was guilty of no more serious offense than -playing a practical joke. - -In this case, Alban was necessarily in a position to detect the -falsehood. But it was so evidently in Francine's interests to -present her conduct in the most favorable light, that the -discovery failed to excite his suspicion. He waited in silence, -while Miss Ladd administered a severe reproof. Francine having -left the room, as penitently as she had entered it (with her -handkerchief over her tearless eyes), he was at liberty, with -certain reserves, to return to what had passed between Mrs. -Ellmother and himself. - -" The fright which the poor old woman has suffered," he said, -"has led to one good result. I have found her ready at last to -acknowledge that she is ill, and inclined to believe that the -change to Netherwoods has had something to do with it. I have -advised her to take the course which you suggested, by leaving -this house. Is it possible to dispense with the usual delay, when -she gives notice to leave Miss de Sor's service?" - -"She need feel no anxiety, poor soul, on that account," Miss Ladd -replied. "In any case, I had arranged that a week's notice on -either side should be enough. As it is, I will speak to Francine -myself. The least she can do, to express her regret, is to place -no difficulties in Mrs. Ellmother's way." - -The next day was Sunday. - -Miss Ladd broke through her rule of attending to secular affairs -on week days only; and, after consulting with Mrs. Ellmother, -arranged with Francine that her servant should be at liberty to -leave Netherwoods (health permitting) on the next day. But one -difficulty remained. Mrs. Ellmother was in no condition to take -the long journey to her birthplace in Cumberland; and her own -lodgings in London had been let. - -Under these circumstances, what was the best arrangement that -could be made for her? Miss Ladd wisely and kindly wrote to Emily -on the subject, and asked for a speedy reply. - -Later in the day, Alban was sent for to see Mrs. Ellmother. He -found her anxiously waiting to hear what had passed, on the -previous night, between Miss Ladd and himself. "Were you careful, -sir, to say nothing about Miss Emily?" - -"I was especially careful; I never alluded to her in any way." - -"Has Miss de Sor spoken to you?" - -"I have not given her the opportunity." - -"She's an obstinate one--she might try." - -"If she does, she shall hear my opinion of her in plain words." -The talk between them turned next on Alban's discovery of the -secret, of which Mrs. Ellmother had believed herself to be the -sole depositary since Miss Letitia's death. Without alarming her -by any needless allusion to Doctor Allday or to Miss Jethro, he -answered her inquiries (so far as he was himself concerned) -without reserve. Her curiosity once satisfied, she showed no -disposition to pursue the topic. She pointed to Miss Ladd's cat, -fast asleep by the side of an empty saucer. - -"Is it a sin, Mr. Morris, to wish I was Tom? _He_ doesn't trouble -himself about his life that is past or his life that is to come. -If I could only empty my saucer and go to sleep, I shouldn't be -thinking of the number of people in this world, like myself, who -would be better out of it than in it. Miss Ladd has got me my -liberty tomorrow; and I don't even know where to go, when I leave -this place." - -"Suppose you follow Tom's example?" Alban suggested. "Enjoy -to-day (in that comfortable chair) and let to-morrow take care of -itself." - -To-morrow arrived, and justified Alban's system of philosophy. -Emily answered Miss Ladd's letter, to excellent purpose, by -telegraph. - -"I leave London to-day with Cecilia" (the message announced) "for -Monksmoor Park, Hants. Will Mrs. Ellmother take care of the -cottage in my absence? I shall be away for a month, at least. All -is prepared for her if she consents." - -Mrs. Ellmother gladly accepted this proposal. In the interval of -Emily's absence, she could easily arrange to return to her own -lodgings. With words of sincere gratitude she took leave of Miss -Ladd; but no persuasion would induce her to say good-by to -Francine. "Do me one more kindness, ma'am; don't tell Miss de Sor -when I go away." Ignorant of the provocation which had produced -this unforgiving temper of mind, Miss Ladd gently remonstrated. -"Miss de Sor received my reproof in a penitent spirit; she -expresses sincere sorrow for having thoughtlessly frightened you. -Both yesterday and to-day she has made kind inquiries after your -health. Come! come! don't bear malice--wish her good-by." Mrs. -Ellmother's answer was characteristic. "I'll say good-by by -telegraph, when I get to London." - -Her last words were addressed to Alban. "If you can find a way of -doing it, sir, keep those two apart." - -"Do you mean Emily and Miss de Sor? - -"Yes." - -"What are you afraid of?" - -"I don't know." - -"Is that quite reasonable, Mrs. Ellmother?" - -"I daresay not. I only know that I _am_ afraid." - -The pony chaise took her away. Alban's class was not yet ready -for him. He waited on the terrace. - -Innocent alike of all knowledge of the serious reason for fear -which did really exist, Mrs. Ellmother and Alban felt, -nevertheless, the same vague distrust of an intimacy between the -two girls. Idle, vain, malicious, false--to know that Francine's -character presented these faults, without any discoverable merits -to set against them, was surely enough to justify a gloomy view -of the prospect, if she succeeded in winning the position of -Emily's friend. Alban reasoned it out logically in this -way--without satisfying himself, and without accounting for the -remembrance that haunted him of Mrs. Ellmother's farewell look. -"A commonplace man would say we are both in a morbid state of -mind," he thought; "and sometimes commonplace men turn out to be -right." - -He was too deeply preoccupied to notice that he had advanced -perilously near Francine's window. She suddenly stepped out of -her room, and spoke to him. - -"Do you happen to know, Mr. Morris, why Mrs. Ellmother has gone -away without bidding me good-by?" - -"She was probably afraid, Miss de Sor, that you might make her -the victim of another joke." - -Francine eyed him steadily. "Have you any particular reason for -speaking to me in that way?" - -"I am not aware that I have answered you rudely--if that is what -you mean." - -"That is _not_ what I mean. You seem to have taken a dislike to -me. I should be glad to know why." - -"I dislike cruelty--and you have behaved cruelly to Mrs. -Ellmother " - -"Meaning to be cruel?" Francine inquired. - -"You know as well as I do, Miss de Sor, that I can't answer that -question." - -Francine looked at him again "Am I to understand that we are -enemies?" she asked. - -"You are to understand," he replied, "that a person whom Miss -Ladd employs to help her in teaching, cannot always presume to -express his sentiments in speaking to the young ladies." - -"If that means anything, Mr. Morris, it means that we are -enemies." - -"It means, Miss de Sor, that I am the drawing-master at this -school, and that I am called to my class." - -Francine returned to her room, relieved of the only doubt that -had troubled her. Plainly no suspicion that she had overheard -what passed between Mrs. Ellmother and himself existed in Alban's -mind. As to the use to be made of her discovery, she felt no -difficulty in deciding to wait, and be guided by events. Her -curiosity and her self-esteem had been alike gratified--she had -got the better of Mrs. Ellmother at last, and with that triumph -she was content. While Emily remained her friend, it would be an -act of useless cruelty to disclose the terrible truth. There had -certainly been a coolness between them at Brighton. But -Francine--still influenced by the magnetic attraction which drew -her to Emily--did not conceal from herself that she had offered -the provocation, and had been therefore the person to blame. "I -can set all that right," she thought, "when we meet at Monksmoor -Park." She opened her desk and wrote the shortest and sweetest of -letters to Cecilia. "I am entirely at the disposal of my charming -friend, on any convenient day--may I add, my dear, the sooner the -better?" - - -CHAPTER XXXVII. - -"THE LADY WANTS YOU, SIR." - -The pupils of the drawing-class put away their pencils and -color-boxes in high good humor: the teacher's vigilant eye for -faults had failed him for the first time in their experience. Not -one of them had been reproved; they had chattered and giggled and -drawn caricatures on the margin of the paper, as freely as if the -master had left the room. Alban's wandering attention was indeed -beyond the reach of control. His interview with Francine had -doubled his sense of responsibility toward Emily--while he was -further than ever from seeing how he could interfere, to any -useful purpose, in his present position, and with his reasons for -writing under reserve. - -One of the servants addressed him as he was leaving the -schoolroom. The landlady's boy was waiting in the hall, with a -message from his lodgings. - -"Now then! what is it?" he asked, irritably. - -"The lady wants you, sir." With this mysterious answer, the boy -presented a visiting card. The name inscribed on it was--"Miss -Jethro." - -She had arrived by the train, and she was then waiting at Alban's -lodgings. "Say I will be with her directly." Having given the -message, he stood for a while, with his hat in his -hand--literally lost in astonishment. It was simply impossible to -guess at Miss Jethro's object: and yet, with the usual perversity -of human nature, he was still wondering what she could possibly -want with him, up to the final moment when he opened the door of -his sitting-room. - -She rose and bowed with the same grace of movement, and the same -well-bred composure of manner, which Doctor Allday had noticed -when she entered his consulting-room. Her dark melancholy eyes -rested on Alban with a look of gentle interest. A faint flush of -color animated for a moment the faded beauty of her face--passed -away again--and left it paler than before. - -"I cannot conceal from myself," she began, "that I am intruding -on you under embarrassing circumstances." - -"May I ask, Miss Jethro, to what circumstances you allude?" - -"You forget, Mr. Morris, that I left Miss Ladd's school, in a -manner which justified doubt of me in the minds of strangers." - -"Speaking as one of those strangers," Alban replied, "I cannot -feel that I had any right to form an opinion, on a matter which -only concerned Miss Ladd and yourself." - -Miss Jethro bowed gravely. "You encourage me to hope," she said. -"I think you will place a favorable construction on my visit when -I mention my motive. I ask you to receive me, in the interests of -Miss Emily Brown." - -Stating her purpose in calling on him in those plain terms, she -added to the amazement which Alban already felt, by handing to -him--as if she was presenting an introduction--a letter marked, -"Private," addressed to her by Doctor Allday. - -"I may tell you," she premised, "that I had no idea of troubling -you, until Doctor Allday suggested it. I wrote to him in the -first instance; and there is his reply. Pray read it." - -The letter was dated, "Penzance"; and the doctor wrote, as he -spoke, without ceremony. - - -"MADAM--Your letter has been forwarded to me. I am spending my -autumn holiday in the far West of Cornwall. However, if I had -been at home, it would have made no difference. I should have -begged leave to decline holding any further conversation with -you, on the subject of Miss Emily Brown, for the following -reasons: - -"In the first place, though I cannot doubt your sincere interest -in the young lady's welfare, I don't like your mysterious way of -showing it. In the second place, when I called at your address in -London, after you had left my house, I found that you had taken -to flight. I place my own interpretation on this circumstance; -but as it is not founded on any knowledge of facts, I merely -allude to it, and say no more." - -Arrived at that point, Alban offered to return the letter. "Do -you really mean me to go on reading it?" he asked. - -"Yes," she said quietly. - -Alban returned to the letter. - -"In the third place, I have good reason to believe that you -entered Miss Ladd's school as a teacher, under false pretenses. -After that discovery, I tell you plainly I hesitate to attach -credit to any statement that you may wish to make. At the same -time, I must not permit my prejudices (as you will probably call -them) to stand in the way of Miss Emily's interests--supposing -them to be really depending on any interference of yours. Miss -Ladd's drawing-master, Mr. Alban Morris, is even more devoted to -Miss Emily's service than I am. Whatever you might have said to -me, you can say to him--with this possible advantage, that _he_ -may believe you." - -There the letter ended. Alban handed it back in silence. - -Miss Jethro pointed to the words, "Mr. Alban Morris is even more -devoted to Miss EmilyÕs service than I am." - -"Is that true?" she asked. - -"Quite true." - -"I don't complain, Mr. Morris, of the hard things said of me in -that letter; you are at liberty to suppose, if you like, that I -deserve them. Attribute it to pride, or attribute it to -reluctance to make needless demands on your time--I shall not -attempt to defend myself. I leave you to decide whether the woman -who has shown you that letter--having something important to say -to you--is a person who is mean enough to say it under false -pretenses." - -"Tell me what I can do for you, Miss Jethro: and be assured, -beforehand, that I don't doubt your sincerity." - -"My purpose in coming here," she answered, "is to induce you to -use your influence over Miss Emily Brown--" - -"With what object?" Alban asked, interrupting her. - -"My object is her own good. Some years since, I happened to -become acquainted with a person who has attained some celebrity -as a preacher. You have perhaps heard of Mr. Miles Mirabel?" - -"I have heard of him." - -"I have been in correspondence with him," Miss Jethro proceeded. -"He tells me he has been introduced to a young lady, who was -formerly one of Miss Ladd's pupils, and who is the daughter of -Mr. Wyvil, of Monksmoor Park. He has called on Mr. Wyvil; and he -has since received an invitation to stay at Mr. Wyvil's house. -The day fixed for the visit is Monday, the fifth of next month." - -Alban listened--at a loss to know what interest he was supposed -to have in being made acquainted with Mr. Mirabel's engagements. -Miss Jethro's next words enlightened him. - -"You are perhaps aware," she resumed, "that Miss Emily Brown is -Miss Wyvil's intimate friend. She will be one of the guests at -Monksmoor Park. If there are any obstacles which you can place in -her way--if there is any influence which you can exert, without -exciting suspicion of your motive--prevent her, I entreat you, -from accepting Miss Wyvil's invitation, until Mr. Mirabel's visit -has come to an end." - -"Is there anything against Mr. Mirabel?" he asked. - -"I say nothing against him." - -"Is Miss Emily acquainted with him?" - -"No." - -"Is he a person with whom it would be disagreeable to her to -associate?" - -"Quite the contrary." - -"And yet you expect me to prevent them from meeting! Be -reasonable, Miss Jethro." - -"I can only be in earnest, Mr. Morris--more truly, more deeply in -earnest than you can suppose. I declare to you that I am speaking -in Miss Emily's interests. Do you still refuse to exert yourself -for her sake?" - -"I am spared the pain of refusal," Alban answered. "The time for -interference has gone by. She is, at this moment, on her way to -Monksmoor Park." - -Miss Jethro attempted to rise--and dropped back into her chair. -"Water!" she said faintly. After drinking from the glass to the -last drop, she began to revive. Her little traveling-bag was on -the floor at her side. She took out a railway guide, and tried to -consult it. Her fingers trembled incessantly; she was unable to -find the page to which she wished to refer. "Help me," she said, -"I must leave this place--by the first train that passes." - -"To see Emily?" Alban asked. - -"Quite useless! You have said it yourself--the time for -interference has gone by. Look at the guide." - -"What place shall I look for?" - -"Look for Vale Regis." - -Alban found the place. The train was due in ten minutes. "Surely -you are not fit to travel so soon?" he suggested. - -"Fit or not, I must see Mr. Mirabel--I must make the effort to -keep them apart by appealing to _him_." - -"With any hope of success?" - -"With no hope--and with no interest in the man himself. Still I -must try." - -"Out of anxiety for Emily's welfare?" - -"Out of anxiety for more than that." - -"For what?" - -"If you can't guess, I daren't tell you." - -That strange reply startled Alban. Before he could ask what it -meant, Miss Jethro had left him. - -In the emergencies of life, a person readier of resource than -Alban Morris it would not have been easy to discover. The -extraordinary interview that had now come to an end had found its -limits. Bewildered and helpless, he stood at the window of his -room, and asked himself (as if he had been the weakest man -living), "What shal l I do?" - - -BOOK THE FOURTH--THE COUNTRY HOUSE. - -CHAPTER XXXVIII. - -DANCING. - -The windows of the long drawing-room at Monksmoor are all thrown -open to the conservatory. Distant masses of plants and flowers, -mingled in ever-varying forms of beauty, are touched by the -melancholy luster of the rising moon. Nearer to the house, the -restful shadows are disturbed at intervals, where streams of -light fall over them aslant from the lamps in the room. The -fountain is playing. In rivalry with its lighter music, the -nightingales are singing their song of ecstasy. Sometimes, the -laughter of girls is heard--and, sometimes, the melody of a -waltz. The younger guests at Monksmoor are dancing. - -Emily and Cecilia are dressed alike in white, with flowers in -their hair. Francine rivals them by means of a gorgeous contrast -of color, and declares that she is rich with the bright emphasis -of diamonds and the soft persuasion of pearls. - -Miss Plym (from the rectory) is fat and fair and prosperous: she -overflows with good spirits; she has a waist which defies -tight-lacing, and she dances joyously on large flat feet. Miss -Darnaway (officer's daughter with small means) is the exact -opposite of Miss Plym. She is thin and tall and faded--poor soul. -Destiny has made it her hard lot in life to fill the place of -head-nursemaid at home. In her pensive moments, she thinks of the -little brothers and sisters, whose patient servant she is, and -wonders who comforts them in their tumbles and tells them stories -at bedtime, while she is holiday-making at the pleasant country -house. - -Tender-hearted Cecilia, remembering how few pleasures this young -friend has, and knowing how well she dances, never allows her to -be without a partner. There are three invaluable young gentlemen -present, who are excellent dancers. Members of different -families, they are nevertheless fearfully and wonderfully like -each other. They present the same rosy complexions and -straw-colored mustachios, the same plump cheeks, vacant eyes and -low forehead; and they utter, with the same stolid gravity, the -same imbecile small talk. On sofas facing each other sit the two -remaining guests, who have not joined the elders at the -card-table in another room. They are both men. One of them is -drowsy and middle-aged--happy in the possession of large landed -property: happier still in a capacity for drinking Mr. Wyvil's -famous port-wine without gouty results. - -The other gentleman--ah, who is the other? He is the confidential -adviser and bosom friend of every young lady in the house. Is it -necessary to name the Reverend Miles Mirabel? - -There he sits enthroned, with room for a fair admirer on either -side of him--the clerical sultan of a platonic harem. His -persuasive ministry is felt as well as heard: he has an innocent -habit of fondling young persons. One of his arms is even long -enough to embrace the circumference of Miss Plym--while the other -clasps the rigid silken waist of Francine. "I do it everywhere -else," he says innocently, "why not here?" Why not indeed--with -that delicate complexion and those beautiful blue eyes; with the -glorious golden hair that rests on his shoulders, and the glossy -beard that flows over his breast? Familiarities, forbidden to -mere men, become privileges and condescensions when an angel -enters society--and more especially when that angel has enough of -mortality in him to be amusing. Mr. Mirabel, on his social side, -is an irresistible companion. He is cheerfulness itself; he takes -a favorable view of everything; his sweet temper never differs -with anybody. "In my humble way," he confesses, "I like to make -the world about me brighter." Laughter (harmlessly produced, -observe!) is the element in which he lives and breathes. Miss -Darnaway's serious face puts him out; he has laid a bet with -Emily--not in money, not even in gloves, only in flowers--that he -will make Miss Darnaway laugh; and he has won the wager. Emily's -flowers are in his button-hole, peeping through the curly -interstices of his beard. "Must you leave me?" he asks tenderly, -when there is a dancing man at liberty, and it is Francine's turn -to claim him. She leaves her seat not very willingly. For a -while, the place is vacant; Miss Plym seizes the opportunity of -consulting the ladies' bosom friend. - -"Dear Mr. Mirabel, do tell me what you think of Miss de Sor?" - -Dear Mr. Mirabel bursts into enthusiasm and makes a charming -reply. His large experience of young ladies warns him that they -will tell each other what he thinks of them, when they retire for -the night; and he is careful on these occasions to say something -that will bear repetition. - -"I see in Miss de Sor," he declares, "the resolution of a man, -tempered by the sweetness of a woman. When that interesting -creature marries, her husband will be--shall I use the vulgar -word?--henpecked. Dear Miss Plym, he will enjoy it; and he will -be quite right too; and, if I am asked to the wedding, I shall -say, with heartfelt sincerity, Enviable man!" - -In the height of her admiration for Mr. Mirabel's wonderful eye -for character, Miss Plym is called away to the piano. Cecilia -succeeds to her friend's place--and has her waist taken in charge -as a matter of course. - -"How do you like Miss Plym?" she asks directly. - -Mr. Mirabel smiles, and shows the prettiest little pearly teeth. -"I was just thinking of her," he confesses pleasantly; "Miss Plym -is so nice and plump, so comforting and domestic--such a perfect -clergyman's daughter. You love her, don't you? Is she engaged to -be married? In that case--between ourselves, dear Miss Wyvil, a -clergyman is obliged to be cautious--I may own that I love her -too." - -Delicious titillations of flattered self-esteem betray themselves -in Cecilia's lovely complexion. She is the chosen confidante of -this irresistible man; and she would like to express her sense of -obligation. But Mr. Mirabel is a master in the art of putting the -right words in the right places; and simple Cecilia distrusts -herself and her grammar. - -At that moment of embarrassment, a friend leaves the dance, and -helps Cecilia out of the difficulty. - -Emily approaches the sofa-throne, breathless--followed by her -partner, entreating her to give him "one turn more." She is not -to be tempted; she means to rest. Cecilia sees an act of mercy, -suggested by the presence of the disengaged young man. She seizes -his arm, and hurries him off to poor Miss Darnaway; sitting -forlorn in a corner, and thinking of the nursery at home. In the -meanwhile a circumstance occurs. Mr. Mirabel's all-embracing arm -shows itself in a new character, when Emily sits by his side. - -It becomes, for the first time, an irresolute arm. It advances a -little--and hesitates. Emily at once administers an unexpected -check; she insists on preserving a free waist, in her own -outspoken language. "No, Mr. Mirabel, keep that for the others. -You can't imagine how ridiculous you and the young ladies look, -and how absurdly unaware of it you all seem to be." For the first -time in his life, the reverend and ready-witted man of the world -is at a loss for an answer. Why? - -For this simple reason. He too has felt the magnetic attraction -of the irresistible little creature whom every one likes. Miss -Jethro has been doubly defeated. She has failed to keep them -apart; and her unexplained misgivings have not been justified by -events: Emily and Mr. Mirabel are good friends already. The -brilliant clergyman is poor; his interests in life point to a -marriage for money; he has fascinated the heiresses of two rich -fathers, Mr. Tyvil and Mr. de Sor--and yet he is conscious of an -influence (an alien influence, without a balance at its bankers), -which has, in some mysterious way, got between him and his -interests. - -On Emily's side, the attraction felt is of another nature -altogether. Among the merry young people at Monksmoor she is her -old happy self again; and she finds in Mr. Mirabel the most -agreeable and amusing man whom she has ever met. After those -dismal night watches by the bed of her dying aunt, and the dreary -weeks of solitude that followed, to live in this new world of -luxury and gayety is like escaping from the darkness of night, -and basking in the fall brightn ess of day. Cecilia declares that -she looks, once more, like the joyous queen of the bedroom, in -the bygone time at school; and Francine (profaning Shakespeare -without knowing it), says, "Emily is herself again!" - -"Now that your arm is in its right place, reverend sir," she -gayly resumes, "I may admit that there are exceptions to all -rules. My waist is at your disposal, in a case of necessity--that -is to say, in a case of waltzing." - -"The one case of all others," Mirabel answers, with the engaging -frankness that has won him so many friends, "which can never -happen in my unhappy experience. Waltzing, I blush to own it, -means picking me up off the floor, and putting smelling salts to -my nostrils. In other words, dear Miss Emily, it is the room that -waltzes--not I. I can't look at those whirling couples there, -with a steady head. Even the exquisite figure of our young -hostess, when it describes flying circles, turns me giddy." - -Hearing this allusion to Cecilia, Emily drops to the level of the -other girls. She too pays her homage to the Pope of private life. -"You promised me your unbiased opinion of Cecilia," she reminds -him; "and you haven't given it yet." - -The ladies' friend gently remonstrates. "Miss Wyvil's beauty -dazzles me. How can I give an unbiased opinion? Besides, I am not -thinking of her; I can only think of you." - -Emily lifts her eyes, half merrily, half tenderly, and looks at -him over the top of her fan. It is her first effort at -flirtation. She is tempted to engage in the most interesting of -all games to a girl--the game which plays at making love. What -has Cecilia told her, in those bedroom gossipings, dear to the -hearts of the two friends? Cecilia has whispered, "Mr. Mirabel -admires your figure; he calls you 'the Venus of Milo, in a state -of perfect abridgment.'" Where is the daughter of Eve, who would -not have been flattered by that pretty compliment--who would not -have talked soft nonsense in return? "You can only think of Me," -Emily repeats coquettishly. "Have you said that to the last young -lady who occupied my place, and will you say it again to the next -who follows me?" - -"Not to one of them! Mere compliments are for the others--not for -you." - -"What is for me, Mr. Mirabel?" - -"What I have just offered you--a confession of the truth." - -Emily is startled by the tone in which he replies. He seems to be -in earnest; not a vestige is left of the easy gayety of his -manner. His face shows an expression of anxiety which she has -never seen in it yet. "Do you believe me?" he asks in a whisper. - -She tries to change the subject. - -"When am I to hear you preach, Mr. Mirabel?" - -He persists. "When you believe me," he says. - -His eyes add an emphasis to that reply which is not to be -mistaken. Emily turns away from him, and notices Francine. She -has left the dance, and is looking with marked attention at Emily -and Mirabel. "I want to speak to you," she says, and beckons -impatiently to Emily. - -Mirabel whispers, "Don't go!" - -Emily rises nevertheless--ready to avail herself of the first -excuse for leaving him. Francine meets her half way, and takes -her roughly by the arm. - -"What is it?" Emily asks. - -"Suppose you leave off flirting with Mr. Mirabel, and make -yourself of some use." - -"In what way?" - -"Use your ears--and look at that girl." - -She points disdainfully to innocent Miss Plym. The rector's -daughter possesses all the virtues, with one exception--the -virtue of having an ear for music. When she sings, she is out of -tune; and, when she plays, she murders time. - -"Who can dance to such music as that?" says Francine. "Finish the -waltz for her." - -Emily naturally hesitates. "How can I take her place, unless she -asks me?" - -Francine laughs scornfully. "Say at once, you want to go back to -Mr. Mirabel." - -"Do you think I should have got up, when you beckoned to me," -Emily rejoins, "if I had not wanted to get away from Mr. -Mirabel?" - -Instead of resenting this sharp retort, Francine suddenly breaks -into good humor. "Come along, you little spit-fire; I'll manage -it for you." - -She leads Emily to the piano, and stops Miss Plym without a word -of apology: "It's your turn to dance now. Here's Miss Brown -waiting to relieve you." - -Cecilia has not been unobservant, in her own quiet way, of what -has been going on. Waiting until Francine and Miss Plym are out -of hearing, she bends over Emily, and says, "My dear, I really do -think Francine is in love with Mr. Mirabel." - -"After having only been a week in the same house with him!" Emily -exclaims. - -"At any rate," said Cecilia, more smartly than usual, "she is -jealous of _you_." - - -CHAPTER XXXIX. - -FEIGNING. - -The next morning, Mr. Mirabel took two members of the circle at -Monksmoor by surprise. One of them was Emily; and one of them was -the master of the house. - -Seeing Emily alone in the garden before breakfast, he left his -room and joined her. "Let me say one word," he pleaded, "before -we go to breakfast. I am grieved to think that I was so -unfortunate as to offend you, last night." - -Emily's look of astonishment answered for her before she could -speak. "What can I have said or done," she asked, "to make you -think that?" - -"Now I breathe again!" he cried, with the boyish gayety of manner -which was one of the secrets of his popularity among women. "I -really feared that I had spoken thoughtlessly. It is a terrible -confession for a clergyman to make--but it is not the less true -that I am one of the most indiscreet men living. It is my rock -ahead in life that I say the first thing which comes uppermost, -without stopping to think. Being well aware of my own defects, I -naturally distrust myself." - -"Even in the pulpit?" Emily inquired. - -He laughed with the readiest appreciation of the satire--although -it was directed against himself. - -"I like that question," he said; "it tells me we are as good -friends again as ever. The fact is, the sight of the -congregation, when I get into the pulpit, has the same effect -upon me that the sight of the footlights has on an actor. All -oratory (though my clerical brethren are shy of confessing it) is -acting--without the scenery and the costumes. Did you really mean -it, last night, when you said you would like to hear me preach?" - -"Indeed, I did." - -"How very kind of you. I don't think myself the sermon is worth -the sacrifice. (There is another specimen of my indiscreet way of -talking!) What I mean is, that you will have to get up early on -Sunday morning, and drive twelve miles to the damp and dismal -little village, in which I officiate for a man with a rich wife -who likes the climate of Italy. My congregation works in the -fields all the week, and naturally enough goes to sleep in church -on Sunday. I have had to counteract that. Not by preaching! I -wouldn't puzzle the poor people with my eloquence for the world. -No, no: I tell them little stories out of the Bible--in a nice -easy gossiping way. A quarter of an hour is my limit of time; -and, I am proud to say, some of them (mostly the women) do to a -certain extent keep awake. If you and the other ladies decide to -honor me, it is needless to say you shall have one of my grand -efforts. What will be the effect on my unfortunate flock remains -to be seen. I will have the church brushed up, and luncheon of -course at the parsonage. Beans, bacon, and beer--I haven't got -anything else in the house. Are you rich? I hope not!" - -"I suspect I am quite as poor as you are, Mr. Mirabel." - -"I am delighted to hear it. (More of my indiscretion!) Our -poverty is another bond between us." - -Before he could enlarge on this text, the breakfast bell rang. - -He gave Emily his arm, quite satisfied with the result of the -morning's talk. In speaking seriously to her on the previous -night, he had committed the mistake of speaking too soon. To -amend this false step, and to recover his position in Emily's -estimation, had been his object in view--and it had been -successfully accomplished. At the breakfast-table that morning, -the companionable clergyman was more amusing than ever. - -The meal being over, the company dispersed as usual--with the one -exception of Mirabel. Without any apparent reason, he kept his -place at the table. Mr. Wyvil, the most courteous and considerate -of men, felt - it an attention due to his guest not to leave the room first. -All that he could venture to do was to give a little hint. "Have -you any plans for the morning?" he asked. - -"I have a plan that depends entirely on yourself," Mirabel -answered; "and I am afraid of being as indiscreet as usual, if I -mention it. Your charming daughter tells me you play on the -violin." - -Modest Mr. Wyvil looked confused. "I hope you have not been -annoyed," he said; "I practice in a distant room so that nobody -may hear me." - -"My dear sir, I am eager to hear you! Music is my passion; and -the violin is my favorite instrument." - -Mr. Wyvil led the way to his room, positively blushing with -pleasure. Since the death of his wife he had been sadly in want -of a little encouragement. His daughters and his friends were -careful--over-careful, as he thought--of intruding on him in his -hours of practice. And, sad to say, his daughters and his friends -were, from a musical point of view, perfectly right. - -Literature has hardly paid sufficient attention to a social -phenomenon of a singularly perplexing kind. We hear enough, and -more than enough, of persons who successfully cultivate the -Arts--of the remarkable manner in which fitness for their -vocation shows itself in early life, of the obstacles which -family prejudice places in their way, and of the unremitting -devotion which has led to the achievement of glorious results. - -But how many writers have noticed those other incomprehensible -persons, members of families innocent for generations past of -practicing Art or caring for Art, who have notwithstanding -displayed from their earliest years the irresistible desire to -cultivate poetry, painting, or music; who have surmounted -obstacles, and endured disappointments, in the single-hearted -resolution to devote their lives to an intellectual -pursuit--being absolutely without the capacity which proves the -vocation, and justifies the sacrifice. Here is Nature, "unerring -Nature," presented in flat contradiction with herself. Here are -men bent on performing feats of running, without having legs; and -women, hopelessly barren, living in constant expectation of large -families to the end of their days. The musician is not to be -found more completely deprived than Mr. Wyvil of natural capacity -for playing on an instrument--and, for twenty years past, it had -been the pride and delight of his heart to let no day of his life -go by without practicing on the violin. - -"I am sure I must be tiring you," he said politely--after having -played without mercy for an hour and more. - -No: the insatiable amateur had his own purpose to gain, and was -not exhausted yet. Mr. Wyvil got up to look for some more music. -In that interval desultory conversation naturally took place. -Mirabel contrived to give it the necessary direction--the -direction of Emily. - -"The most delightful girl I have met with for many a long year -past!" Mr. Wyvil declared warmly. "I don't wonder at my daughter -being so fond of her. She leads a solitary life at home, poor -thing; and I am honestly glad to see her spirits reviving in my -house." - -"An only child?" Mirabel asked. - -In the necessary explanation that followed, Emily's isolated -position in the world was revealed in few words. But one more -discovery--the most important of all--remained to be made. Had -she used a figure of speech in saying that she was as poor as -Mirabel himself? or had she told him the shocking truth? He put -the question with perfect delicacy---but with unerring directness -as well. - -Mr. Wyvil, quoting his daughter's authority, described Emily's -income as falling short even of two hundred a year. Having made -that disheartening reply, he opened another music book. "You know -this sonata, of course?" he said. The next moment, the violin was -under his chin and the performance began. - -While Mirabel was, to all appearance, listening with the utmost -attention, he was actually endeavoring to reconcile himself to a -serious sacrifice of his own inclinations. If he remained much -longer in the same house with Emily, the impression that she had -produced on him would be certainly strengthened--and he would be -guilty of the folly of making an offer of marriage to a woman who -was as poor as himself. The one remedy that could be trusted to -preserve him from such infatuation as this, was absence. At the -end of the week, he had arranged to return to Vale Regis for his -Sunday duty; engaging to join his friends again at Monksmoor on -the Monday following. That rash promise, there could be no -further doubt about it, must not be fulfilled. - -He had arrived at this resolution, when the terrible activity of -Mr. Wyvil's bow was suspended by the appearance of a third person -in the room. - -Cecilia's maid was charged with a neat little three-cornered note -from her young lady, to be presented to her master. Wondering why -his daughter should write to him, Mr. Wyvil opened the note, and -was informed of Cecilia's motive in these words: - -"DEAREST PAPA--I hear Mr. Mirabel is with you, and as this is a -secret, I must write. Emily has received a very strange letter -this morning, which puzzles her and alarms me. When you are quite -at liberty, we shall be so much obliged if you will tell us how -Emily ought to answer it." - -Mr. Wyvil stopped Mirabel, on the point of trying to escape from -the music. "A little domestic matter to attend to," he said. "But -we will finish the sonata first." - - -CHAPTER XL. - -CONSULTING. - -Out of the music room, and away from his violin, the sound side -of Mr. Wyvil's character was free to assert itself. In his public -and in his private capacity, he was an eminently sensible man. - -As a member of parliament, he set an example which might have -been followed with advantage by many of his colleagues. In the -first place he abstained from hastening the downfall of -representative institutions by asking questions and making -speeches. In the second place, he was able to distinguish between -the duty that he owed to his party, and the duty that he owed to -his country. When the Legislature acted politically--that is to -say, when it dealt with foreign complications, or electoral -reforms--he followed his leader. When the Legislature acted -socially--that is to say, for the good of the people--he followed -his conscience. On the last occasion when the great Russian -bugbear provoked a division, he voted submissively with his -Conservative allies. But, when the question of opening museums -and picture galleries on Sundays arrayed the two parties in -hostile camps, he broke into open mutiny, and went over to the -Liberals. He consented to help in preventing an extension of the -franchise; but he refused to be concerned in obstructing the -repeal of taxes on knowledge. "I am doubtful in the first case," -he said, "but I am sure in the second." He was asked for an -explanation: "Doubtful of what? and sure of what?" To the -astonishment of his leader, he answered: "The benefit to the -people." The same sound sense appeared in the transactions of his -private life. Lazy and dishonest servants found that the gentlest -of masters had a side to his character which took them by -surprise. And, on certain occasions in the experience of Cecilia -and her sister, the most indulgent of fathers proved to be as -capable of saying No, as the sternest tyrant who ever ruled a -fireside. - -Called into council by his daughter and his guest, Mr. Wyvil -assisted them by advice which was equally wise and kind--but -which afterward proved, under the perverse influence of -circumstances, to be advice that he had better not have given. - -The letter to Emily which Cecilia had recommended to her father's -consideration, had come from Netherwoods, and had been written by -Alban Morris. - -He assured Emily that he had only decided on writing to her, -after some hesitation, in the hope of serving interests which he -did not himself understand, but which might prove to be interests -worthy of consideration, nevertheless. Having stated his motive -in these terms, he proceeded to relate what had passed between -Miss Jethro and himself. On the subject of Francine, Alban only -ventured to add that she had not produced a favorable impression -on him, and that he could not think her - likely, on further experience, to prove a desirable friend. - -On the last leaf were added some lines, which Emily was at no -loss how to answer. She had folded back the page, so that no eyes -but her own should see how the poor drawing-master finished his -letter: "I wish you all possible happiness, my dear, among your -new friends; but don't forget the old friend who thinks of you, -and dreams of you, and longs to see you again. The little world I -live in is a dreary world, Emily, in your absence. Will you write -to me now and then, and encourage me to hope?" - -Mr. Wyvil smiled, as he looked at the folded page, which hid the -signature. - -"I suppose I may take it for granted," he said slyly, "that this -gentleman really has your interests at heart? May I know who he -is?" - -Emily answered the last question readily enough. Mr. Wyvil went -on with his inquiries. "About the mysterious lady, with the -strange name," he proceeded--"do you know anything of her?" - -Emily related what she knew; without revealing the true reason -for Miss Jethro's departure from Netherwoods. In after years, it -was one of her most treasured remembrances, that she had kept -secret the melancholy confession which had startled her, on the -last night of her life at school. - -Mr. Wyvil looked at Alban's letter again. "Do you know how Miss -Jethro became acquainted with Mr. Mirabel?" he asked. - -"I didn't even know that they were acquainted." - -"Do you think it likely--if Mr. Morris had been talking to you -instead of writing to you--that he might have said more than he -has said in his letter?" - -Cecilia had hitherto remained a model of discretion. Seeing Emily -hesitate, temptation overcame her. "Not a doubt of it, papa!" she -declared confidently. - -"Is Cecilia right?" Mr. Wyvil inquired. - -Reminded in this way of her influence over Alban, Emily could -only make one honest reply. She admitted that Cecilia was right. - -Mr. Wyvil thereupon advised her not to express any opinion, until -she was in a better position to judge for herself. "When you -write to Mr. Morris," he continued, "say that you will wait to -tell him what you think of Miss Jethro, until you see him again." - -"I have no prospect at present of seeing him again," Emily said. - -"You can see Mr. Morris whenever it suits him to come here," Mr. -Wyvil replied. "I will write and ask him to visit us, and you can -inclose the invitation in your letter." - -"Oh, Mr. Wyvil, how good of you!" - -"Oh, papa, the very thing I was going to ask you to do!" - -The excellent master of Monksmoor looked unaffectedly surprised. -"What are you two young ladies making a fuss about?" he said. -"Mr. Morris is a gentleman by profession; and--may I venture to -say it, Miss Emily?--a valued friend of yours as well. Who has a -better claim to be one of my guests?" - -Cecilia stopped her father as he was about to leave the room. "I -suppose we mustn't ask Mr. Mirabel what he knows of Miss Jethro?" -she said. - -"My dear, what can you be thinking of? What right have we to -question Mr. Mirabel about Miss Jethro?" - -"It's so very unsatisfactory, papa. There must be some reason why -Emily and Mr. Mirabel ought not to meet--or why should Miss -Jethro have been so very earnest about it?" - -"Miss Jethro doesn't intend us to know why, Cecilia. It will -perhaps come out in time. Wait for time." - -Left together, the girls discussed the course which Alban would -probably take, on receiving Mr. Wyvil's invitation. - -"He will only be too glad," Cecilia asserted, "to have the -opportunity of seeing you again." - -"I doubt whether he will care about seeing me again, among -strangers," Emily replied. "And you forget that there are -obstacles in his way. How is he to leave his class?" - -"Quite easily! His class doesn't meet on the Saturday -half-holiday. He can be here, if he starts early, in time for -luncheon; and he can stay till Monday or Tuesday." - -"Who is to take his place at the school?" - -"Miss Ladd, to be sure--if _you_ make a point of it. Write to -her, as well as to Mr. Morris." - -The letters being written--and the order having been given to -prepare a room for the expected guest--Emily and Cecilia returned -to the drawing-room. They found the elders of the party variously -engaged--the men with newspapers, and the ladies with work. -Entering the conservatory next, they discovered Cecilia's sister -languishing among the flowers in an easy chair. Constitutional -laziness, in some young ladies, assumes an invalid character, and -presents the interesting spectacle of perpetual convalescence. -The doctor declared that the baths at St. Moritz had cured Miss -Julia. Miss Julia declined to agree with the doctor. - -"Come into the garden with Emily and me," Cecilia said. - -"Emily and you don't know what it is to be ill," Julia answered. - -The two girls left her, and joined the young people who were -amusing themselves in the garden. Francine had taken possession -of Mirabel, and had condemned him to hard labor in swinging her. -He made an attempt to get away when Emily and Cecilia approached, -and was peremptorily recalled to his duty. "Higher!" cried Miss -de Sor, in her hardest tones of authority. "I want to swing -higher than anybody else!" Mirabel submitted with gentleman-like -resignation, and was rewarded by tender encouragement expressed -in a look. - -"Do you see that?" Cecilia whispered. "He knows how rich she -is--I wonder whether he will marry her." - -Emily smiled. "I doubt it, while he is in this house," she said. -"You are as rich as Francine--and don't forget that you have -other attractions as well." - -Cecilia shook her head. "Mr. Mirabel is very nice," she admitted; -"but I wouldn't marry him. Would you?" - -Emily secretly compared Alban with Mirabel. "Not for the world!" -she answered. - -The next day was the day of Mirabel's departure. His admirers -among the ladies followed him out to the door, at which Mr. -Wyvil's carriage was waiting. Francine threw a nosegay after the -departing guest as he got in. "Mind you come back to us on -Monday!" she said. Mirabel bowed and thanked her; but his last -look was for Emily, standing apart from the others at the top of -the steps. Francine said nothing; her lips closed -convulsively--she turned suddenly pale. - - -CHAPTER XLI. - -SPEECHIFYING. - -On the Monday, a plowboy from Vale Regis arrived at Monksmoor. - -In respect of himself, he was a person beneath notice. In respect -of his errand, he was sufficiently important to cast a gloom over -the household. The faithless Mirabel had broken his engagement, -and the plowboy was the herald of misfortune who brought his -apology. To his great disappointment (he wrote) he was detained -by the affairs of his parish. He could only trust to Mr. Wyvil's -indulgence to excuse him, and to communicate his sincere sense of -regret (on scented note paper) to the ladies. - -Everybody believed in the affairs of the parish--with the -exception of Francine. "Mr. Mirabel has made the best excuse he -could think of for shortening his visit; and I don't wonder at -it," she said, looking significantly at Emily. - -Emily was playing with one of the dogs; exercising him in the -tricks which he had learned. She balanced a morsel of sugar on -his nose--and had no attention to spare for Francine. - -Cecilia, as the mistress of the house, felt it her duty to -interfere. "That is a strange remark to make," she answered. "Do -you mean to say that we have driven Mr. Mirabel away from us?" - -"I accuse nobody," Francine began with spiteful candor. - -"Now she's going to accuse everybody!" Emily interposed, -addressing herself facetiously to the dog. - -"But when girls are bent on fascinating men, whether they like it -or not," Francine proceeded, "men have only one alternative--they -must keep out of the way." She looked again at Emily, more -pointedly than ever. - -Even gentle Cecilia resented this. "Whom do you refer to?" she -said sharply. - -"My dear!" Emily remonstrated, "need you ask?" She glanced at -Francine as she spoke, and then gave the dog his signal. He -tossed up the sugar, and caught it in his mouth. His audience -applauded him--and so, for that time, the skirmish ended. - -Among the letters of the next morning's delivery, arrived Alban's -reply. Emily's anticipations proved to be correct. The -drawing-master's du ties would not permit him to leave -Netherwoods; and he, like Mirabel, sent his apologies. His short -letter to Emily contained no further allusion to Miss Jethro; it -began and ended on the first page. - -Had he been disappointed by the tone of reserve in which Emily -had written to him, under Mr. Wyvil's advice? Or (as Cecilia -suggested) had his detention at the school so bitterly -disappointed him that he was too disheartened to write at any -length? Emily made no attempt to arrive at a conclusion, either -one way or the other. She seemed to be in depressed spirits; and -she spoke superstitiously, for the first time in Cecilia's -experience of her. - -"I don't like this reappearance of Miss Jethro," she said. "If -the mystery about that woman is ever cleared up, it will bring -trouble and sorrow to me--and I believe, in his own secret heart, -Alban Morris thinks so too." - -"Write, and ask him," Cecilia suggested. - -"He is so kind and so unwilling to distress me," Emily answered, -"that he wouldn't acknowledge it, even if I am right." - -In the middle of the week, the course of private life at -Monksmoor suffered an interruption--due to the parliamentary -position of the master of the house. - -The insatiable appetite for making and hearing speeches, which -represents one of the marked peculiarities of the English race -(including their cousins in the United States), had seized on Mr. -Wyvil's constituents. There was to be a political meeting at the -market hall, in the neighboring town; and the member was expected -to make an oration, passing in review contemporary events at home -and abroad. "Pray don't think of accompanying me," the good man -said to his guests. "The hall is badly ventilated, and the -speeches, including my own, will not be worth hearing." - -This humane warning was ungratefully disregarded. The gentlemen -were all interested in "the objects of the meeting"; and the -ladies were firm in the resolution not to be left at home by -themselves. They dressed with a view to the large assembly of -spectators before whom they were about to appear; and they -outtalked the men on political subjects, all the way to the town. - -The most delightful of surprises was in store for them, when they -reached the market hall. Among the crowd of ordinary gentlemen, -waiting under the portico until the proceedings began, appeared -one person of distinction, whose title was "Reverend," and whose -name was Mirabel. - -Francine was the first to discover him. She darted up the steps -and held out her hand. - -"This _is_ a pleasure!" she cried. "Have you come here to see--" -she was about to say Me, but, observing the strangers round her, -altered the word to Us. "Please give me your arm," she whispered, -before her young friends had arrived within hearing. "I am so -frightened in a crowd!" - -She held fast by Mirabel, and kept a jealous watch on him. Was it -only her fancy? or did she detect a new charm in his smile when -he spoke to Emily? - -Before it was possible to decide, the time for the meeting had -arrived. Mr. Wyvil's friends were of course accommodated with -seats on the platform. Francine, still insisting on her claim to -Mirabel's arm, got a chair next to him. As she seated herself, -she left him free for a moment. In that moment, the infatuated -man took an empty chair on the other side of him, and placed it -for Emily. He communicated to that hated rival the information -which he ought to have reserved for Francine. "The committee -insist," he said, "on my proposing one of the Resolutions. I -promise not to bore you; mine shall be the shortest speech -delivered at the meeting." - -The proceedings began. - -Among the earlier speakers not one was inspired by a feeling of -mercy for the audience. The chairman reveled in words. The mover -and seconder of the first Resolution (not having so much as the -ghost of an idea to trouble either of them), poured out language -in flowing and overflowing streams, like water from a perpetual -spring. The heat exhaled by the crowded audience was already -becoming insufferable. Cries of "Sit down!" assailed the orator -of the moment. The chairman was obliged to interfere. A man at -the back of the hall roared out, "Ventilation!" and broke a -window with his stick. He was rewarded with three rounds of -cheers; and was ironically invited to mount the platform and take -the chair. - -Under these embarrassing circumstances, Mirabel rose to speak. - -He secured silence, at the outset, by a humorous allusion to the -prolix speaker who had preceded him. "Look at the clock, -gentlemen," he said; "and limit my speech to an interval of ten -minutes." The applause which followed was heard, through the -broken window, in the street. The boys among the mob outside -intercepted the flow of air by climbing on each other's shoulders -and looking in at the meeting, through the gaps left by the -shattered glass. Having proposed his Resolution with discreet -brevity of speech, Mirabel courted popularity on the plan adopted -by the late Lord Palmerston in the House of Commons--he told -stories, and made jokes, adapted to the intelligence of the -dullest people who were listening to him. The charm of his voice -and manner completed his success. Punctually at the tenth minute, -he sat down amid cries of "Go on." Francine was the first to take -his hand, and to express admiration mutely by pressing it. He -returned the pressure--but he looked at the wrong lady--the lady -on the other side. - -Although she made no complaint, he instantly saw that Emily was -overcome by the heat. Her lips were white, and her eyes were -closing. "Let me take you out," he said, "or you will faint." - -Francine started to her feet to follow them. The lower order of -the audience, eager for amusement, put their own humorous -construction on the young lady's action. They roared with -laughter. "Let the parson and his sweetheart be," they called -out; "two's company, miss, and three isn't." Mr. Wyvil interposed -his authority and rebuked them. A lady seated behind Francine -interfered to good purpose by giving her a chair, which placed -her out of sight of the audience. Order was restored--and the -proceedings were resumed. - -On the conclusion of the meeting, Mirabel and Emily were found -waiting for their friends at the door. Mr. Wyvil innocently added -fuel to the fire that was burning in Francine. He insisted that -Mirabel should return to Monksmoor, and offered him a seat in the -carriage at Emily's side. - -Later in the evening, when they all met at dinner, there appeared -a change in Miss de Sor which surprised everybody but Mirabel. -She was gay and good-humored, and especially amiable and -attentive to Emily--who sat opposite to her at the table. "What -did you and Mr. Mirabel talk about while you were away from us?" -she asked innocently. "Politics?" - -Emily readily adopted Francine's friendly tone. "Would you have -talked politics, in my place?" she asked gayly. - -"In your place, I should have had the most delightful of -companions," Francine rejoined; "I wish I had been overcome by -the heat too!" - -Mirabel--attentively observing her--acknowledged the compliment -by a bow, and left Emily to continue the conversation. In perfect -good faith she owned to having led Mirabel to talk of himself. -She had heard from Cecilia that his early life had been devoted -to various occupations, and she was interested in knowing how -circumstances had led him into devoting himself to the Church. -Francine listened with the outward appearance of implicit belief, -and with the inward conviction that Emily was deliberately -deceiving her. When the little narrative was at an end, she was -more agreeable than ever. She admired Emily's dress, and she -rivaled Cecilia in enjoyment of the good things on the table; she -entertained Mirabel with humorous anecdotes of the priests at St. -Domingo, and was so interested in the manufacture of violins, -ancient and modern, that Mr. Wyvil promised to show her his -famous collection of instruments, after dinner. Her overflowing -amiability included even poor Miss Darnaway and the absent -brothers and sisters. She heard with flattering sympathy, how -they had been ill and had got well again; what amusing tricks -they played, what alarming accidents happened to them, a nd how -remarkably clever they were--"including, I do assure you, dear -Miss de Sor, the baby only ten months old." When the ladies rose -to retire, Francine was, socially speaking, the heroine of the -evening. - -While the violins were in course of exhibition, Mirabel found an -opportunity of speaking to Emily, unobserved. - -"Have you said, or done, anything to offend Miss de Sor?" he -asked. - -"Nothing whatever!" Emily declared, startled by the question. -"What makes you think I have offended her?" - -"I have been trying to find a reason for the change in her," -Mirabel answered--"especially the change toward yourself." - -"Well?" - -"Well--she means mischief." - -"Mischief of what sort?" - -"Of a sort which may expose her to discovery--unless she disarms -suspicion at the outset. That is (as I believe) exactly what she -has been doing this evening. I needn't warn you to be on your -guard." - -All the next day Emily was on the watch for events--and nothing -happened. Not the slightest appearance of jealousy betrayed -itself in Francine. She made no attempt to attract to herself the -attentions of Mirabel; and she showed no hostility to Emily, -either by word, look, or manner. - -. . . . . . . . - -The day after, an event occurred at Netherwoods. Alban Morris -received an anonymous letter, addressed to him in these terms: - -"A certain young lady, in whom you are supposed to be interested, -is forgetting you in your absence. If you are not mean enough to -allow yourself to be supplanted by another man, join the party at -Monksmoor before it is too late." - - -CHAPTER XLII. - -COOKING. - -The day after the political meeting was a day of departures, at -the pleasant country house. - -Miss Darnaway was recalled to the nursery at home. The old squire -who did justice to Mr. Wyvil's port-wine went away next, having -guests to entertain at his own house. A far more serious loss -followed. The three dancing men had engagements which drew them -to new spheres of activity in other drawing-rooms. They said, -with the same dreary grace of manner, "Very sorry to go"; they -drove to the railway, arrayed in the same perfect traveling suits -of neutral tint; and they had but one difference of opinion among -them--each firmly believed that he was smoking the best cigar to -be got in London. - -The morning after these departures would have been a dull morning -indeed, but for the presence of Mirabel. - -When breakfast was over, the invalid Miss Julia established -herself on the sofa with a novel. Her father retired to the other -end of the house, and profaned the art of music on music's most -expressive instrument. Left with Emily, Cecilia, and Francine, -Mirabel made one of his happy suggestions. "We are thrown on our -own resources," he said. "Let us distinguish ourselves by -inventing some entirely new amusement for the day. You young -ladies shall sit in council--and I will be secretary." He turned -to Cecilia. "The meeting waits to hear the mistress of the -house." - -Modest Cecilia appealed to her school friends for help; -addressing herself in the first instance (by the secretary's -advice) to Francine, as the eldest. They all noticed another -change in this variable young person. She was silent and subdued; -and she said wearily, "I don't care what we do--shall we go out -riding?" - -The unanswerable objection to riding as a form of amusement, was -that it had been more than once tried already. Something clever -and surprising was anticipated from Emily when it came to her -turn. She, too, disappointed expectation. "Let us sit under the -trees," was all that she could suggest, "and ask Mr. Mirabel to -tell us a story." - -Mirabel laid down his pen and took it on himself to reject this -proposal. "Remember," he remonstrated, "that I have an interest -in the diversions of the day. You can't expect me to be amused by -my own story. I appeal to Miss Wyvil to invent a pleasure which -will include the secretary." - -Cecilia blushed and looked uneasy. "I think I have got an idea," -she announced, after some hesitation. "May I propose that we all -go to the keeper's lodge?" There her courage failed her, and she -hesitated again. - -Mirabel gravely registered the proposal, as far as it went. "What -are we to do when we get to the keeper's lodge?" he inquired. - -"We are to ask the keeper's wife," Cecilia proceeded, "to lend us -her kitchen." - -"To lend us her kitchen," Mirabel repeated. - -"And what are we to do in the kitchen?" - -Cecilia looked down at her pretty hands crossed on her lap, and -answered softly, "Cook our own luncheon." - -Here was an entirely new amusement, in the most attractive sense -of the words! Here was charming Cecilia's interest in the -pleasures of the table so happily inspired, that the grateful -meeting offered its tribute of applause--even including Francine. -The members of the council were young; their daring digestions -contemplated without fear the prospect of eating their own -amateur cookery. The one question that troubled them now was what -they were to cook. - -"I can make an omelet," Cecilia ventured to say. - -"If there is any cold chicken to be had," Emily added, "I -undertake to follow the omelet with a mayonnaise." - -"There are clergymen in the Church of England who are even clever -enough to fry potatoes," Mirabel announced--"and I am one of -them. What shall we have next? A pudding? Miss de Sor, can you -make a pudding?" - -Francine exhibited another new side to her character--a diffident -and humble side. "I am ashamed to say I don't know how to cook -anything," she confessed; "you had better leave me out of it." - -But Cecilia was now in her element. Her plan of operations was -wide enough even to include Francine. "You shall wash the -lettuce, my dear, and stone the olives for Emily's mayonnaise. -Don't be discouraged! You shall have a companion; we will send to -the rectory for Miss Plym--the very person to chop parsley and -shallot for my omelet. Oh, Emily, what a morning we are going to -have!" Her lovely blue eyes sparkled with joy; she gave Emily a -kiss which Mirabel must have been more or less than man not to -have coveted. "I declare," cried Cecilia, completely losing her -head, "I'm so excited, I don't know what to do with myself!" - -Emily's intimate knowledge of her friend applied the right -remedy. "You don't know what to do with yourself?" she repeated. -"Have you no sense of duty? Give the cook your orders." - -Cecilia instantly recovered her presence of mind. She sat down at -the writing-table, and made out a list of eatable productions in -the animal and vegetable world, in which every other word was -underlined two or three times over. Her serious face was a sight -to see, when she rang for the cook, and the two held a privy -council in a corner. - -On the way to the keeper's lodge, the young mistress of the house -headed a procession of servants carrying the raw materials. -Francine followed, held in custody by Miss Plym--who took her -responsibilities seriously, and clamored for instruction in the -art of chopping parsley. Mirabel and Emily were together, far -behind; they were the only two members of the company whose minds -were not occupied in one way or another by the kitchen. - -"This child's play of ours doesn't seem to interest you," Mirabel -remarked - -"I am thinking," Emily answered, "of what you said to me about -Francine." - -"I can say something more," he rejoined. "When I noticed the -change in her at dinner, I told you she meant mischief. There is -another change to-day, which suggests to my mind that the -mischief is done." - -"And directed against me?" Emily asked. - -Mirabel made no direct reply. It was impossible for _him_ to -remind her that she had, no matter how innocently, exposed -herself to the jealous hatred of Francine. "Time will tell us, -what we don't know now," he replied evasively. - -"You seem to have faith in time, Mr. Mirabel." - -"The greatest faith. Time is the inveterate enemy of deceit. -Sooner or later, every hidden thing is a thing doomed to -discovery." - -"Without exception?" - -"Yes," he answered positively, "without exception." - -At that moment Francine stopped and looked back at them. Did she -think that Emily and Mirabel had been talking together long -enough? Miss Plym--with the parsley still on her mind---advanced -to consult Emil y's experience. The two walked on together, -leaving Mirabel to overtake Francine. He saw, in her first look -at him, the effort that it cost her to suppress those emotions -which the pride of women is most deeply interested in concealing. -Before a word had passed, he regretted that Emily had left them -together. - -"I wish I had your cheerful disposition," she began, abruptly. "I -am out of spirits or out of temper--I don't know which; and I -don't know why. Do you ever trouble yourself with thinking of the -future?" - -"As seldom as possible, Miss de Sor. In such a situation as mine, -most people have prospects--I have none." - -He spoke gravely, conscious of not feeling at ease on his side. -If he had been the most modest man that ever lived, he must have -seen in Francine's face that she loved him. - -When they had first been presented to each other, she was still -under the influence of the meanest instincts in her scheming and -selfish nature. She had thought to herself, "With my money to -help him, that man's celebrity would do the rest; the best -society in England would be glad to receive Mirabel's wife. "As -the days passed, strong feeling had taken the place of those -contemptible aspirations: Mirabel had unconsciously inspired the -one passion which was powerful enough to master Francine--sensual -passion. Wild hopes rioted in her. Measureless desires which she -had never felt before, united themselves with capacities for -wickedness, which had been the horrid growth of a few -nights--capacities which suggested even viler attempts to rid -herself of a supposed rivalry than slandering Emily by means of -an anonymous letter. Without waiting for it to be offered, she -took Mirabel's arm, and pressed it to her breast as they slowly -walked on. The fear of discovery which had troubled her after she -had sent her base letter to the post, vanished at that -inspiriting moment. She bent her head near enough to him when he -spoke to feel his breath on her face. - -"There is a strange similarity," she said softly, "between your -position and mine. Is there anything cheering in _my_ prospects? -I am far away from home--my father and mother wouldn't care if -they never saw me again. People talk about my money! What is the -use of money to such a lonely wretch as I am? Suppose I write to -London, and ask the lawyer if I may give it all away to some -deserving person? Why not to you?" - -"My dear Miss de Sor--!" - -"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Mirabel, in wishing that I could -make you a prosperous man?" - -"You must not even talk of such a thing!" - -"How proud you are!" she said submissively. - -"Oh, I can't bear to think of you in that miserable village--a -position so unworthy of your talents and your claims! And you -tell me I must not talk about it. Would you have said that to -Emily, if she was as anxious as I am to see you in your right -place in the world?" - -"I should have answered her exactly as I have answered you." - -"She will never embarrass you, Mr. Mirabel, by being as sincere -as I am. Emily can keep her own secrets." - -"Is she to blame for doing that?" - -"It depends on your feeling for her." - -"What feeling do you mean?" - -"Suppose you heard she was engaged to be married?" Francine -suggested. - -Mirabel's manner--studiously cold and formal thus far--altered on -a sudden. He looked with unconcealed anxiety at Francine. "Do you -say that seriously?" he asked. - -"I said 'suppose.' I don't exactly know that she is engaged." - -"What _do_ you know?" - -"Oh, how interested you are in Emily! She is admired by some -people. Are you one of them?" - -Mirabel's experience of women warned him to try silence as a -means of provoking her into speaking plainly. The experiment -succeeded: Francine returned to the question that he had put to -her, and abruptly answered it. - -"You may believe me or not, as you like--I know of a man who is -in love with her. He has had his opportunities; and he has made -good use of them. Would you like to know who he is?" - -"I should like to know anything which you may wish to tell me." -He did his best to make the reply in a tone of commonplace -politeness--and he might have succeeded in deceiving a man. The -woman's quicker ear told her that he was angry. Francine took the -full advantage of that change in her favor. - -"I am afraid your good opinion of Emily will be shaken," she -quietly resumed, "when I tell you that she has encouraged a man -who is only drawing-master at a school. At the same time, a -person in her circumstances--I mean she has no money--ought not -to be very hard to please. Of course she has never spoken to you -of Mr. Alban Morris?" - -"Not that I remember." - -Only four words--but they satisfied Francine. - -The one thing wanting to complete the obstacle which she had now -placed in Emily's way, was that Alban Morris should enter on the -scene. He might hesitate; but, if he was really fond of Emily, -the anonymous letter would sooner or later bring him to -Monksmoor. In the meantime, her object was gained. She dropped -Mirabel's arm. - -"Here is the lodge," she said gayly--"I declare Cecilia has got -an apron on already! Come, and cook." - - -CHAPTER XLIII. - -SOUNDING. - -Mirabel left Francine to enter the lodge by herself. His mind was -disturbed: he felt the importance of gaining time for reflection -before he and Emily met again. - -The keeper's garden was at the back of the lodge. Passing through -the wicket-gate, he found a little summer-house at a turn in the -path. Nobody was there: he went in and sat down. - -At intervals, he had even yet encouraged himself to underrate the -true importance of the feeling which Emily had awakened in him. -There was an end to all self-deception now. After what Francine -had said to him, this shallow and frivolous man no longer -resisted the all-absorbing influence of love. He shrank under the -one terrible question that forced itself on his mind:--Had that -jealous girl spoken the truth? - -In what process of investigation could he trust, to set this -anxiety at rest? To apply openly to Emily would be to take a -liberty, which Emily was the last person in the world to permit. -In his recent intercourse with her he had felt more strongly than -ever the importance of speaking with reserve. He had been -scrupulously careful to take no unfair advantage of his -opportunity, when he had removed her from the meeting, and when -they had walked together, with hardly a creature to observe them, -in the lonely outskirts of the town. Emily's gaiety and good -humor had not led him astray: he knew that these were bad signs, -viewed in the interests of love. His one hope of touching her -deeper sympathies was to wait for the help that might yet come -from time and chance. With a bitter sigh, he resigned himself to -the necessity of being as agreeable and amusing as ever: it was -just possible that he might lure her into alluding to Alban -Morris, if he began innocently by making her laugh. - -As he rose to return to the lodge, the keeper's little terrier, -prowling about the garden, looked into the summer-house. Seeing a -stranger, the dog showed his teeth and growled. - -Mirabel shrank back against the wall behind him, trembling in -every limb. His eyes stared in terror as the dog came nearer: -barking in high triumph over the discovery of a frightened man -whom he could bully. Mirabel called out for help. A laborer at -work in the garden ran to the place--and stopped with a broad -grin of amusement at seeing a grown man terrified by a barking -dog. "Well," he said to himself, after Mirabel had passed out -under protection, "there goes a coward if ever there was one -yet!" - -Mirabel waited a minute behind the lodge to recover himself. He -had been so completely unnerved that his hair was wet with -perspiration. While he used his handkerchief, he shuddered at -other recollections than the recollection of the dog. "After that -night at the inn," he thought, "the least thing frightens me!" - -He was received by the young ladies with cries of derisive -welcome. "Oh, for shame! for shame! here are the potatoes already -cut, and nobody to fry them!" - -Mirabel assumed the mask of cheerfulness--with the desperate -resolution of an actor, amusing his audience at a time of -domestic distress. He astonished the keeper's wife by showin g -that he really knew how to use her frying-pan. Cecilia's omelet -was tough--but the young ladies ate it. Emily's mayonnaise sauce -was almost as liquid as water--they swallowed it nevertheless by -the help of spoons. The potatoes followed, crisp and dry and -delicious--and Mirabel became more popular than ever. "He is the -only one of us," Cecilia sadly acknowledged, "who knows how to -cook." - -When they all left the lodge for a stroll in the park, Francine -attached herself to Cecilia and Miss Plym. She resigned Mirabel -to Emily--in the happy belief that she had paved the way for a -misunderstanding between them. - -The merriment at the luncheon table had revived Emily's good -spirits. She had a light-hearted remembrance of the failure of -her sauce. Mirabel saw her smiling to herself. "May I ask what -amuses you?" he said. - -"I was thinking of the debt of gratitude that we owe to Mr. -Wyvil," she replied. "If he had not persuaded you to return to -Monksmoor, we should never have seen the famous Mr. Mirabel with -a frying pan in his hand, and never have tasted the only good -dish at our luncheon." - -Mirabel tried vainly to adopt his companion's easy tone. Now that -he was alone with her, the doubts that Francine had aroused shook -the prudent resolution at which he had arrived in the garden. He -ran the risk, and told Emily plainly why he had returned to Mr. -Wyvil's house. - -"Although I am sensible of our host's kindness," he answered, "I -should have gone back to my parsonage--but for You." - -She declined to understand him seriously. "Then the affairs of -your parish are neglected--and I am to blame!" she said. - -"Am I the first man who has neglected his duties for your sake?" -he asked. "I wonder whether the masters at school had the heart -to report you when you neglected your lessons?" - -She thought of Alban--and betrayed herself by a heightened color. -The moment after, she changed the subject. Mirabel could no -longer resist the conclusion that Francine had told him the -truth. - -"When do you leave us," she inquired. - -"To-morrow is Saturday--I must go back as usual." - -"And how will your deserted parish receive you?" - -He made a desperate effort to be as amusing as usual. - -"I am sure of preserving my popularity," he said, "while I have a -cask in the cellar, and a few spare sixpences in my pocket. The -public spirit of my parishioners asks for nothing but money and -beer. Before I went to that wearisome meeting, I told my -housekeeper that I was going to make a speech about reform. She -didn't know what I meant. I explained that reform might increase -the number of British citizens who had the right of voting at -elections for parliament. She brightened up directly. 'Ah,' she -said, 'I've heard my husband talk about elections. The more there -are of them (_he_ says) the more money he'll get for his vote. -I'm all for reform.' On my way out of the house, I tried the man -who works in my garden on the same subject. He didn't look at the -matter from the housekeeper's sanguine point of view. 'I don't -deny that parliament once gave me a good dinner for nothing at -the public-house,' he admitted. 'But that was years ago--and -(you'll excuse me, sir) I hear nothing of another dinner to come. -It's a matter of opinion, of course. I don't myself believe in -reform.' There are specimens of the state of public spirit in our -village!" He paused. Emily was listening--but he had not -succeeded in choosing a subject that amused her. He tried a topic -more nearly connected with his own interests; the topic of the -future. "Our good friend has asked me to prolong my visit, after -Sunday's duties are over," he said. "I hope I shall find you -here, next week?" - -"Will the affairs of your parish allow you to come back?" Emily -asked mischievously. - -"The affairs of my parish--if you force me to confess it--were -only an excuse." - -"An excuse for what?" - -"An excuse for keeping away from Monksmoor--in the interests of -my own tranquillity. The experiment has failed. While you are -here, I can't keep away." - -She still declined to understand him seriously. "Must I tell you -in plain words that flattery is thrown away on me?" she said. - -"Flattery is not offered to you," he answered gravely. "I beg -your pardon for having led to the mistake by talking of myself." -Having appealed to her indulgence by that act of submission, he -ventured on another distant allusion to the man whom he hated and -feared. "Shall I meet any friends of yours," he resumed, "when I -return on Monday?" - -"What do you mean?" - -"I only meant to ask if Mr. Wyvil expects any new guests?" - -As he put the question, Cecilia's voice was heard behind them, -calling to Emily. They both turned round. Mr. Wyvil had joined -his daughter and her two friends. He advanced to meet Emily. - -"I have some news for you that you little expect," he said. "A -telegram has just arrived from Netherwoods. Mr. Alban Morris has -got leave of absence, and is coming here to-morrow." - - -CHAPTER XLIV. - -COMPETING. - -Time at Monksmoor had advanced to the half hour before dinner, on -Saturday evening. - -Cecilia and Francine, Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel, were loitering in -the conservatory. In the drawing-room, Emily had been -considerately left alone with Alban. He had missed the early -train from Netherwoods; but he had arrived in time to dress for -dinner, and to offer the necessary explanations. - -If it had been possible for Alban to allude to the anonymous -letter, he might have owned that his first impulse had led him to -destroy it, and to assert his confidence in Emily by refusing Mr. -Wyvil's invitation. But try as he might to forget them, the base -words that he had read remained in his memory. Irritating him at -the outset, they had ended in rousing his jealousy. Under that -delusive influence, he persuaded himself that he had acted, in -the first instance, without due consideration. It was surely his -interest--it might even be his duty--to go to Mr. Wyvil's house, -and judge for himself. After some last wretched moments of -hesitation, he had decided on effecting a compromise with his own -better sense, by consulting Miss Ladd. That excellent lady did -exactly what he had expected her to do. She made arrangements -which granted him leave of absence, from the Saturday to the -Tuesday following. The excuse which had served him, in -telegraphing to Mr. Wyvil, must now be repeated, in accounting -for his unexpected appearance to Emily. "I found a person to take -charge of my class," be said; "and I gladly availed myself of the -opportunity of seeing you again." - -After observing him attentively, while he was speaking to her, -Emily owned, with her customary frankness, that she had noticed -something in his manner which left her not quite at her ease. - -"I wonder," she said, "if there is any foundation for a doubt -that has troubled me?" To his unutterable relief, she at once -explained what the doubt was. "I am afraid I offended you, in -replying to your letter about Miss Jethro." - -In this case, Alban could enjoy the luxury of speaking -unreservedly. He confessed that Emily's letter had disappointed -him. - -"I expected you to answer me with less reserve," he replied; "and -I began to think I had acted rashly in writing to you at all. -When there is a better opportunity, I may have a word to say--" -He was apparently interrupted by something that he saw in the -conservatory. Looking that way, Emily perceived that Mirabel was -the object which had attracted Alban's attention. The vile -anonymous letter was in his mind again. Without a preliminary -word to prepare Emily, he suddenly changed the subject. "How do -you like the clergyman?" he asked. - -"Very much indeed," she replied, without the slightest -embarrassment. "Mr. Mirabel is clever and agreeable--and not at -all spoiled by his success. I am sure," she said innocently, "you -will like him too." - -Alban's face answered her unmistakably in the negative sense--but -Emily's attention was drawn the other way by Francine. She joined -them at the moment, on the lookout for any signs of an -encouraging result which her treachery might already have -produced. Alban had been inclined to suspect her when he had -received the letter. He rose and bowed as she approached. -Something--he was unable to r ealize what it was--told him, in -the moment when they looked at each other, that his suspicion had -hit the mark. - -In the conservatory the ever-amiable Mirabel had left his friends -for a while in search of flowers for Cecilia. She turned to her -father when they were alone, and asked him which of the gentlemen -was to take her in to dinner--Mr. Mirabel or Mr. Morris? - -"Mr. Morris, of course," he answered. "He is the new guest--and -he turns out to be more than the equal, socially-speaking, of our -other friend. When I showed him his room, I asked if he was -related to a man who bore the same name--a fellow student of -mine, years and years ago, at college. He is my friend's younger -son; one of a ruined family--but persons of high distinction in -their day." - -Mirabel returned with the flowers, just as dinner was announced. - -"You are to take Emily to-day," Cecilia said to him, leading the -way out of the conservatory. As they entered the drawing-room, -Alban was just offering his arm to Emily. "Papa gives you to me, -Mr. Morris," Cecilia explained pleasantly. Alban hesitated, -apparently not understanding the allusion. Mirabel interfered -with his best grace: "Mr. Wyvil offers you the honor of taking -his daughter to the dining-room." Alban's face darkened -ominously, as the elegant little clergyman gave his arm to Emily, -and followed Mr. Wyvil and Francine out of the room. Cecilia -looked at her silent and surly companion, and almost envied her -lazy sister, dining--under cover of a convenient headache--in her -own room. - -Having already made up his mind that Alban Morris required -careful handling, Mirabel waited a little before he led the -conversation as usual. Between the soup and the fish, he made an -interesting confession, addressed to Emily in the strictest -confidence. - -"I have taken a fancy to your friend Mr. Morris," he said. "First -impressions, in my case, decide everything; I like people or -dislike them on impulse. That man appeals to my sympathies. Is he -a good talker?" - -"I should say Yes," Emily answered prettily, "if _you_ were not -present." - -Mirabel was not to be beaten, even by a woman, in the art of -paying compliments. He looked admiringly at Alban (sitting -opposite to him), and said: "Let us listen." - -This flattering suggestion not only pleased Emily--it artfully -served Mirabel's purpose. That is to say, it secured him an -opportunity for observation of what was going on at the other -side of the table. - -Alban's instincts as a gentleman had led him to control his -irritation and to regret that he had suffered it to appear. -Anxious to please, he presented himself at his best. Gentle -Cecilia forgave and forgot the angry look which had startled her. -Mr. Wyvil was delighted with the son of his old friend. Emily -felt secretly proud of the good opinions which her admirer was -gathering; and Francine saw with pleasure that he was asserting -his claim to Emily's preference, in the way of all others which -would be most likely to discourage his rival. These various -impressions--produced while Alban's enemy was ominously -silent--began to suffer an imperceptible change, from the moment -when Mirabel decided that his time had come to take the lead. A -remark made by Alban offered him the chance for which he had been -on the watch. He agreed with the remark; he enlarged on the -remark; he was brilliant and familiar, and instructive and -amusing--and still it was all due to the remark. Alban's temper -was once more severely tried. Mirabel's mischievous object had -not escaped his penetration. He did his best to put obstacles in -the adversary's way--and was baffled, time after time, with the -readiest ingenuity. If he interrupted--the sweet-tempered -clergyman submitted, and went on. If he differed--modest Mr. -Mirabel said, in the most amiable manner, "I daresay I am wrong," -and handled the topic from his opponent's point of view. Never -had such a perfect Christian sat before at Mr. Wyvil's table: not -a hard word, not an impatient look, escaped him. The longer Alban -resisted, the more surely he lost ground in the general -estimation. Cecilia was disappointed; Emily was grieved; Mr. -Wyvil's favorable opinion began to waver; Francine was disgusted. -When dinner was over, and the carriage was waiting to take the -shepherd back to his flock by moonlight, Mirabel's triumph was -complete. He had made Alban the innocent means of publicly -exhibiting his perfect temper and perfect politeness, under their -best and brightest aspect. - -So that day ended. Sunday promised to pass quietly, in the -absence of Mirabel. The morning came--and it seemed doubtful -whether the promise would be fulfilled. - -Francine had passed an uneasy night. No such encouraging result -as she had anticipated had hitherto followed the appearance of -Alban Morris at Monksmoor. He had clumsily allowed Mirabel to -improve his position--while he had himself lost ground--in -Emily's estimation. If this first disastrous consequence of the -meeting between the two men was permitted to repeat itself on -future occasions, Emily and Mirabel would be brought more closely -together, and Alban himself would be the unhappy cause of it. -Francine rose, on the Sunday morning, before the table was laid -for breakfast--resolved to try the effect of a timely word of -advice. - -Her bedroom was situated in the front of the house. The man she -was looking for presently passed within her range of view from -the window, on his way to take a morning walk in the park. She -followed him immediately. - -"Good-morning, Mr. Morris." - -He raised his hat and bowed--without speaking, and without -looking at her. - -"We resemble each other in one particular," she proceeded, -graciously; "we both like to breathe the fresh air before -breakfast." - -He said exactly what common politeness obliged him to say, and no -more--he said, "Yes." - -Some girls might have been discouraged. Francine went on. - -"It is no fault of mine, Mr. Morris, that we have not been better -friends. For some reason, into which I don't presume to inquire, -you seem to distrust me. I really don't know what I have done to -deserve it." - -"Are you sure of that?" he asked--eying her suddenly and -searchingly as he spoke. - -Her hard face settled into a rigid look; her eyes met his eyes -with a stony defiant stare. Now, for the first time, she knew -that he suspected her of having written the anonymous letter. -Every evil quality in her nature steadily defied him. A hardened -old woman could not have sustained the shock of discovery with a -more devilish composure than this girl displayed. "Perhaps you -will explain yourself," she said. - -"I _have_ explained myself," he answered. - -"Then I must be content," she rejoined, "to remain in the dark. I -had intended, out of my regard for Emily, to suggest that you -might--with advantage to yourself, and to interests that are very -dear to you--be more careful in your behavior to Mr. Mirabel. Are -you disposed to listen to me?" - -"Do you wish me to answer that question plainly, Miss de Sor?" - -"I insist on your answering it plainly." - -"Then I am _not_ disposed to listen to you." - -"May I know why? or am I to be left in the dark again?" - -"You are to be left, if you please, to your own ingenuity." - -Francine looked at him, with a malignant smile. "One of these -days, Mr. Morris--I will deserve your confidence in my -ingenuity." She said it, and went back to the house. - -This was the only element of disturbance that troubled the -perfect tranquillity of the day. What Francine had proposed to -do, with the one idea of making Alban serve her purpose, was -accomplished a few hours later by Emily's influence for good over -the man who loved her. - -They passed the afternoon together uninterruptedly in the distant -solitudes of the park. In the course of conversation Emily found -an opportunity of discreetly alluding to Mirabel. "You mustn't be -jealous of our clever little friend," she said; "I like him, and -admire him; but--" - -"But you don't love him?" - -She smiled at the eager way in which Alban put the question. - -"There is no fear of that," she answered brightly. - -"Not even if you discovered that he loves you?" - -"Not even then. Are you content at last? Promise me not to be -rude to Mr. Mirabel again." - -"For his sake?" - -"No--for my sake. I don't like to see you place yourself at a -disadvantage toward another man; I don't like you to disappoint -me." - -The happiness of hearing her say those words transfigured -him--the manly beauty of his earlier and happier years seemed to -have returned to Alban. He took her hand--he was too agitated to -speak. - -"You are forgetting Mr. Mirabel," she reminded him gently. - -"I will be all that is civil and kind to Mr. Mirabel; I will like -him and admire him as you do. Oh, Emily, are you a little, only a -very little, fond of me?" - -"I don't quite know." - -"May I try to find out?" - -"How?" she asked. - -Her fair cheek was very near to him. The softly-rising color on -it said, Answer me here--and he answered. - - -CHAPTER XLV. - -MISCHIEF--MAKING. - -On Monday, Mirabel made his appearance--and the demon of discord -returned with him. - -Alban had employed the earlier part of the day in making a sketch -in the park--intended as a little present for Emily. Presenting -himself in the drawing-room, when his work was completed, he -found Cecilia and Francine alone. He asked where Emily was. - -The question had been addressed to Cecilia. Francine answered it. - -"Emily mustn't be disturbed," she said. - -"Why not?" - -"She is with Mr. Mirabel in the rose garden. I saw them talking -together--evidently feeling the deepest interest in what they -were saying to each other. Don't interrupt them--you will only be -in the way." - -Cecilia at once protested against this last assertion. "She is -trying to make mischief, Mr. Morris--don't believe her. I am sure -they will be glad to see you, if you join them in the garden." - -Francine rose, and left the room. She turned, and looked at Alban -as she opened the door. "Try it," she said--"and you will find I -am right." - -"Francine sometimes talks in a very ill-natured way," Cecilia -gently remarked. "Do you think she means it, Mr. Morris?' - -"I had better not offer an opinion," Alban replied. - -"Why?" - -"I can't speak impartially; I dislike Miss de Sor." - -There was a pause. Alban's sense of self-respect forbade him to -try the experiment which Francine had maliciously suggested. His -thoughts--less easy to restrain--wandered in the direction of the -garden. The attempt to make him jealous had failed; but he was -conscious, at the same time, that Emily had disappointed him. -After what they had said to each other in the park, she ought to -have remembered that women are at the mercy of appearances. If -Mirabel had something of importance to say to her, she might have -avoided exposing herself to Francine's spiteful misconstruction: -it would have been easy to arrange with Cecilia that a third -person should be present at the interview. - -While he was absorbed in these reflections, Cecilia--embarrassed -by the silence--was trying to find a topic of conversation. Alban -roughly pushed his sketch-book away from him, on the table. Was -he displeased with Emily? The same question had occurred to -Cecilia at the time of the correspondence, on the subject of Miss -Jethro. To recall those letters led her, by natural sequence, to -another effort of memory. She was reminded of the person who had -been the cause of the correspondence: her interest was revived in -the mystery of Miss Jethro. - -"Has Emily told you that I have seen your letter?" she asked. - -He roused himself with a start. "I beg your pardon. What letter -are you thinking of?" - -"I was thinking of the letter which mentions Miss Jethro's -strange visit. Emily was so puzzled and so surprised that she -showed it to me--and we both consulted my father. Have you spoken -to Emily about Miss Jethro?" - -"I have tried--but she seemed to be unwilling to pursue the -subject." - -"Have you made any discoveries since you wrote to Emily?" - -"No. The mystery is as impenetrable as ever." - -As he replied in those terms, Mirabel entered the conservatory -from the garden, evidently on his way to the drawing-room. - -To see the man, whose introduction to Emily it had been Miss -Jethro's mysterious object to prevent--at the very moment when he -had been speaking of Miss Jethro herself--was, not only a -temptation of curiosity, but a direct incentive (in Emily's own -interests) to make an effort at discovery. Alban pursued the -conversation with Cecilia, in a tone which was loud enough to be -heard in the conservatory. - -"The one chance of getting any information that I can see," he -proceeded, "is to speak to Mr. Mirabel." - -"I shall be only too glad, if I can be of any service to Miss -Wyvil and Mr. Morris." - -With those obliging words, Mirabel made a dramatic entry, and -looked at Cecilia with his irresistible smile. Startled by his -sudden appearance, she unconsciously assisted Alban's design. Her -silence gave him the opportunity of speaking in her place. - -"We were talking," he said quietly to Mirabel, "of a lady with -whom you are acquainted." - -"Indeed! May I ask the lady's name?" - -"Miss Jethro." - -Mirabel sustained the shock with extraordinary -self-possession--so far as any betrayal by sudden movement was -concerned. But his color told the truth: it faded to paleness--it -revealed, even to Cecilia's eyes, a man overpowered by fright. - -Alban offered him a chair. He refused to take it by a gesture. -Alban tried an apology next. "I am afraid I have ignorantly -revived some painful associations. Pray excuse me." - -The apology roused Mirabel: he felt the necessity of offering -some explanation. In timid animals, the one defensive capacity -which is always ready for action is cunning. Mirabel was too wily -to dispute the inference--the inevitable inference--which any one -must have drawn, after seeing the effect on him that the name of -Miss Jethro had produced. He admitted that "painful associations" -had been revived, and deplored the "nervous sensibility" which -had permitted it to be seen. - -"No blame can possibly attach to _you_, my dear sir," he -continued, in his most amiable manner. "Will it be indiscreet, on -my part, if I ask how you first became acquainted with Miss -Jethro?" - -"I first became acquainted with her at Miss Ladd's school," Alban -answered. "She was, for a short time only, one of the teachers; -and she left her situation rather suddenly." He paused--but -Mirabel made no remark. "After an interval of a few months," he -resumed, "I saw Miss Jethro again. She called on me at my -lodgings, near Netherwoods." - -"Merely to renew your former acquaintance?" - -Mirabel made that inquiry with an eager anxiety for the reply -which he was quite unable to conceal. Had he any reason to dread -what Miss Jethro might have it in her power to say of him to -another person? Alban was in no way pledged to secrecy, and he -was determined to leave no means untried of throwing light on -Miss Jethro's mysterious warning. He repeated the plain narrative -of the interview, which he had communicated by letter to Emily. -Mirabel listened without making any remark. - -"After what I have told you, can you give me no explanation?" -Alban asked. - -"I am quite unable, Mr. Morris, to help you." - -Was he lying? or speaking, the truth? The impression produced on -Alban was that he had spoken the truth. - -Women are never so ready as men to resign themselves to the -disappointment of their hopes. Cecilia, silently listening up to -this time, now ventured to speak--animated by her sisterly -interest in Emily. - -"Can you not tell us," she said to Mirabel, "why Miss Jethro -tried to prevent Emily Brown from meeting you here?" - -"I know no more of her motive than you do," Mirabel replied. - -Alban interposed. "Miss Jethro left me," he said, "with the -intention--quite openly expressed--of trying to prevent you from -accepting Mr. Wyvil's invitation. Did she make the attempt?" - -Mirabel admitted that she had made the attempt. "But," he added, -"without mentioning Miss Emily's name. I was asked to postpone my -visit, as a favor to herself, because she had her own reasons for -wishing it. I had _my_ reasons" (he bowed with gallantry to -Cecilia) "for being eager to have the honor of knowing Mr. Wyvil -and his daughter; and I refused." - -Once more, the doubt arose: was he lying? or speaking the truth? -And, once more, Alban could not resist the conclusion that he was -speaking the truth. - -"There is one thing I should like - to know," Mirabel continued, after some hesitation. "Has Miss -Emily been informed of this strange affair?" - -"Certainly!" - -Mirabel seemed to be disposed to continue his inquiries--and -suddenly changed his mind. Was he beginning to doubt if Alban had -spoken without concealment, in describing Miss Jethro's visit? -Was he still afraid of what Miss Jethro might have said of him? -In any case, he changed the subject, and made an excuse for -leaving the room. - -"I am forgetting my errand," he said to Alban. "Miss Emily was -anxious to know if you had finished your sketch. I must tell her -that you have returned." - -He bowed and withdrew. - -Alban rose to follow him--and checked himself. - -"No," he thought, "I trust Emily!" He sat down again by Cecilia's -side. - - - -Mirabel had indeed returned to the rose garden. He found Emily -employed as he had left her, in making a crown of roses, to be -worn by Cecilia in the evening. But, in one other respect, there -was a change. Francine was present. - -"Excuse me for sending you on a needless errand," Emily said to -Mirabel; "Miss de Sor tells me Mr. Morris has finished his -sketch. She left him in the drawing-room--why didn't you bring -him here?" - -"He was talking with Miss Wyvil." - -Mirabel answered absently--with his eyes on Francine. He gave her -one of those significant looks, which says to a third person, -"Why are you here?" Francine's jealousy declined to understand -him. He tried a broader hint, in words. - -"Are you going to walk in the garden?" he said. - -Francine was impenetrable. "No," she answered, "I am going to -stay here with Emily." - -Mirabel had no choice but to yield. Imperative anxieties forced -him to say, in Francine's presence, what he had hoped to say to -Emily privately. - -"When I joined Miss Wyvil and Mr. Morris," he began, "what do you -think they were doing? They were talking of--Miss Jethro." - -Emily dropped the rose-crown on her lap. It was easy to see that -she had been disagreeably surprised. - -"Mr. Morris has told me the curious story of Miss Jethro's -visit," Mirabel continued; "but I am in some doubt whether he has -spoken to me without reserve. Perhaps he expressed himself more -freely when he spoke to _you_. Miss Jethro may have said -something to him which tended to lower me in your estimation?" - -"Certainly not, Mr. Mirabel--so far as I know. If I had heard -anything of the kind, I should have thought it my duty to tell -you. Will it relieve your anxiety, if I go at once to Mr. Morris, -and ask him plainly whether he has concealed anything from you or -from me?" - -Mirabel gratefully kissed her hand. "Your kindness overpowers -me," he said--speaking, for once, with true emotion. - -Emily immediately returned to the house. As soon as she was out -of sight, Francine approached Mirabel, trembling with suppressed -rage. - - -CHAPTER XLVI. - -PRETENDING. - -Miss de Sor began cautiously with an apology. "Excuse me, Mr. -Mirabel, for reminding you of my presence." - -Mr. Mirabel made no reply. - -"I beg to say," Francine proceeded, "that I didn't intentionally -see you kiss Emily's hand." - -Mirabel stood, looking at the roses which Emily had left on her -chair, as completely absorbed in his own thoughts as if he had -been alone in the garden. - -"Am I not even worth notice?" Francine asked. "Ah, I know to whom -I am indebted for your neglect!" She took him familiarly by the -arm, and burst into a harsh laugh. "Tell me now, in -confidence--do you think Emily is fond of you?" - -The impression left by Emily's kindness was still fresh in -Mirabel's memory: he was in no humor to submit to the jealous -resentment of a woman whom he regarded with perfect indifference. -Through the varnish of politeness which overlaid his manner, -there rose to the surface the underlying insolence, hidden, on -all ordinary occasions, from all human eyes. He answered -Francine--mercilessly answered her--at last. - -"It is the dearest hope of my life that she may be fond of me," -he said. - -Francine dropped his arm "And fortune favors your hopes," she -added, with an ironical assumption of interest in Mirabel's -prospects. "When Mr. Morris leaves us to-morrow, he removes the -only obstacle you have to fear. Am I right?" - -"No; you are wrong." - -"In what way, if you please?" - -"In this way. I don't regard Mr. Morris as an obstacle. Emily is -too delicate and too kind to hurt his feelings--she is not in -love with him. There is no absorbing interest in her mind to -divert her thoughts from me. She is idle and happy; she -thoroughly enjoys her visit to this house, and I am associated -with her enjoyment. There is my chance--!" - -He suddenly stopped. Listening to him thus far, unnaturally calm -and cold, Francine now showed that she felt the lash of his -contempt. A hideous smile passed slowly over her white face. It -threatened the vengeance which knows no fear, no pity, no -remorse--the vengeance of a jealous woman. Hysterical anger, -furious language, Mirabel was prepared for. The smile frightened -him. - -"Well?" she said scornfully, "why don't you go on?" - -A bolder man might still have maintained the audacious position -which he had assumed. Mirabel's faint heart shrank from it. He -was eager to shelter himself under the first excuse that he could -find. His ingenuity, paralyzed by his fears, was unable to invent -anything new. He feebly availed himself of the commonplace trick -of evasion which he had read of in novels, and seen in action on -the stage. - -"Is it possible," he asked, with an overacted assumption of -surprise, "that you think I am in earnest?" - -In the case of any other person, Francine would have instantly -seen through that flimsy pretense. But the love which accepts the -meanest crumbs of comfort that can be thrown to it--which fawns -and grovels and deliberately deceives itself, in its own -intensely selfish interests--was the love that burned in -Francine's breast. The wretched girl believed Mirabel with such -an ecstatic sense of belief that she trembled in every limb, and -dropped into the nearest chair. - -"_I_ was in earnest," she said faintly. "Didn't you see it?" - -He was perfectly shameless; he denied that he had seen it, in the -most positive manner. "Upon my honor, I thought you were -mystifying me, and I humored the joke." - -She sighed, and looking at him with an expression of tender -reproach. "I wonder whether I can believe you," she said softly. - -"Indeed you may believe me!" he assured her. - -She hesitated--for the pleasure of hesitating. "I don't know. -Emily is very much admired by some men. Why not by you?" - -"For the best of reasons," he answered "She is poor, and I am -poor. Those are facts which speak for themselves." - -"Yes--but Emily is bent on attracting you. She would marry you -to-morrow, if you asked her. Don't attempt to deny it! Besides, -you kissed her hand." - -"Oh, Miss de Sor!" - -"Don't call me 'Miss de Sor'! Call me Francine. I want to know -why you kissed her hand." - -He humored her with inexhaustible servility. "Allow me to kiss -_your_ hand, Francine!--and let me explain that kissing a lady's -hand is only a form of thanking her for her kindness. You must -own that Emily--" - -She interrupted him for the third time. "Emily?" she repeated. -"Are you as familiar as that already? Does she call you 'Miles,' -when you are by yourselves? Is there any effort at fascination -which this charming creature has left untried? She told you no -doubt what a lonely life she leads in her poor little home?" - -Even Mirabel felt that he must not permit this to pass. - -"She has said nothing to me about herself," he answered. "What I -know of her, I know from Mr. Wyvil." - -"Oh, indeed! You asked Mr. Wyvil about her family, of course? -What did he say?" - -"He said she lost her mother when she was a child--and he told me -her father had died suddenly, a few years since, of heart -complaint." - -"Well, and what else?--Never mind now! Here is somebody coming." - -The person was only one of the servants. Mirabel felt grateful to -the man for interrupting them. Animated by sentiments of a -precisely opposite nature, Francine spoke to him sharply. - -"What do you want here?" - -"A message, miss." - -"From whom?" - -"From Miss Brown." - -"For me?" - -"No, miss." He turned to Mirabel. "Miss Brown wishes to speak to -you, sir, if you are not e ngaged." - -Francine controlled herself until the man was out of hearing. - -"Upon my word, this is too shameless!" she declared indignantly. -"Emily can't leave you with me for five minutes, without wanting -to see you again. If you go to her after all that you have said -to me," she cried, threatening Mirabel with her outstretched -hand, "you are the meanest of men!" - -He _was_ the meanest of men--he carried out his cowardly -submission to the last extremity. - -"Only say what you wish me to do," he replied. - -Even Francine expected some little resistance from a creature -bearing the outward appearance of a man. "Oh, do you really mean -it?" she asked "I want you to disappoint Emily. Will you stay -here, and let me make your excuses?" - -"I will do anything to please you." - -Francine gave him a farewell look. Her admiration made a -desperate effort to express itself appropriately in words. "You -are not a man," she said, "you are an angel!" - -Left by himself, Mirabel sat down to rest. He reviewed his own -conduct with perfect complacency. "Not one man in a hundred could -have managed that she-devil as I have done," he thought. "How -shall I explain matters to Emily?" - -Considering this question, he looked by chance at the unfinished -crown of roses. "The very thing to help me!" he said--and took -out his pocketbook, and wrote these lines on a blank page: "I -have had a scene of jealousy with Miss de Sor, which is beyond -all description. To spare _you_ a similar infliction, I have done -violence to my own feelings. Instead of instantly obeying the -message which you have so kindly sent to me, I remain here for a -little while--entirely for your sake." - -Having torn out the page, and twisted it up among the roses, so -that only a corner of the paper appeared in view, Mirabel called -to a lad who was at work in the garden, and gave him his -directions, accompanied by a shilling. "Take those flowers to the -servants' hall, and tell one of the maids to put them in Miss -Brown's room. Stop! Which is the way to the fruit garden?" - -The lad gave the necessary directions. Mirabel walked away -slowly, with his hands in his pockets. His nerves had been -shaken; he thought a little fruit might refresh him. - - -CHAPTER XLVII. - -DEBATING. - -In the meanwhile Emily had been true to her promise to relieve -Mirabel's anxieties, on the subject of Miss Jethro. Entering the -drawing-room in search of Alban, she found him talking with -Cecilia, and heard her own name mentioned as she opened the door. - -"Here she is at last!" Cecilia exclaimed. "What in the world has -kept you all this time in the rose garden?" - -"Has Mr. Mirabel been more interesting than usual?" Alban asked -gayly. Whatever sense of annoyance he might have felt in Emily's -absence, was forgotten the moment she appeared; all traces of -trouble in his face vanished when they looked at each other. - -"You shall judge for yourself," Emily replied with a smile. "Mr. -Mirabel has been speaking to me of a relative who is very dear to -him--his sister." - -Cecilia was surprised. "Why has he never spoken to _us_ of his -sister?" she asked. - -"It's a sad subject to speak of, my dear. His sister lives a life -of suffering--she has been for years a prisoner in her room. He -writes to her constantly. His letters from Monksmoor have -interested her, poor soul. It seems he said something about -me--and she has sent a kind message, inviting me to visit her one -of these days. Do you understand it now, Cecilia?" - -"Of course I do! Tell me--is Mr. Mirabel's sister older or -younger than he is?" - -"Older." - -"Is she married?" - -"She is a widow." - -"Does she live with her brother?" Alban asked. - -"Oh, no! She has her own house--far away in Northumberland." - -"Is she near Sir Jervis Redwood?" - -"I fancy not. Her house is on the coast." - -"Any children?" Cecilia inquired. - -"No; she is quite alone. Now, Cecilia, I have told you all I -know--and I have something to say to Mr. Morris. No, you needn't -leave us; it's a subject in which you are interested. A subject," -she repeated, turning to Alban, "which you may have noticed is -not very agreeable to me." - -"Miss Jethro?" Alban guessed. - -"Yes; Miss Jethro." - -Cecilia's curiosity instantly asserted itself. - -"_We_ have tried to get Mr. Mirabel to enlighten us, and tried in -vain," she said. "You are a favorite. Have you succeeded?" - -"I have made no attempt to succeed," Emily replied. "My only -object is to relieve Mr. Mirabel's anxiety, if I can--with your -help, Mr. Morris." - -"In what way can I help you?" - -"You mustn't be angry." - -"Do I look angry?" - -"You look serious. It is a very simple thing. Mr. Mirabel is -afraid that Miss Jethro may have said something disagreeable -about him, which you might hesitate to repeat. Is he making -himself uneasy without any reason?" - -"Without the slightest reason. I have concealed nothing from Mr. -Mirabel." - -"Thank you for the explanation." She turned to Cecilia. "May I -send one of the servants with a message? I may as well put an end -to Mr. Mirabel's suspense." - -The man was summoned, and was dispatched with the message. Emily -would have done well, after this, if she had abstained from -speaking further of Miss Jethro. But Mirabel's doubts had, -unhappily, inspired a similar feeling of uncertainty in her own -mind. She was now disposed to attribute the tone of mystery in -Alban's unlucky letter to some possible concealment suggested by -regard for herself. "I wonder whether _I_ have any reason to feel -uneasy?" she said--half in jest, half in earnest. - -"Uneasy about what?" Alban inquired. - -"About Miss Jethro, of course! Has she said anything of me which -your kindness has concealed?" - -Alban seemed to be a little hurt by the doubt which her question -implied. "Was that your motive," he asked, "for answering my -letter as cautiously as if you had been writing to a stranger?" - -"Indeed you are quite wrong!" Emily earnestly assured him. "I was -perplexed and startled--and I took Mr. Wyvil's advice, before I -wrote to you. Shall we drop the subject?" - -Alban would have willingly dropped the subject--but for that -unfortunate allusion to Mr. Wyvil. Emily had unconsciously -touched him on a sore place. He had already heard from Cecilia of -the consultation over his letter, and had disapproved of it. "I -think you were wrong to trouble Mr. Wyvil," he said. - -The altered tone of his voice suggested to Emily that he would -have spoken more severely, if Cecilia had not been in the room. -She thought him needlessly ready to complain of a harmless -proceeding--and she too returned to the subject, after having -proposed to drop it not a minute since! - -"You didn't tell me I was to keep your letter a secret," she -replied. - -Cecilia made matters worse--with the best intentions. "I'm sure, -Mr. Morris, my father was only too glad to give Emily his -advice." - -Alban remained silent--ungraciously silent as Emily thought, -after Mr. Wyvil's kindness to him. - -"The thing to regret," she remarked, "is that Mr. Morris allowed -Miss Jethro to leave him without explaining herself. In his -place, I should have insisted on knowing why she wanted to -prevent me from meeting Mr. Mirabel in this house." - -Cecilia made another unlucky attempt at judicious interference. -This time, she tried a gentle remonstrance. - -"Remember, Emily, how Mr. Morris was situated. He could hardly be -rude to a lady. And I daresay Miss Jethro had good reasons for -not wishing to explain herself." - -Francine opened the drawing-room door and heard Cecilia's last -words. - -"Miss Jethro again!" she exclaimed. - -"Where is Mr. Mirabel?" Emily asked. "I sent him a message." - -"He regrets to say he is otherwise engaged for the present," -Francine replied with spiteful politeness. "Don't let me -interrupt the conversation. Who is this Miss Jethro, whose name -is on everybody's lips?" - -Alban could keep silent no longer. "We have done with the -subject," he said sharply. - -"Because I am here?" - -"Because we have said more than enough about Miss Jethro -already." - -"Speak for yourself, Mr. Morris," Emily answered, resenting the -masterful tone which Alban's interference had assumed. "I have -not done with Miss Jethro yet, I can assure you." - -"My dear, you don't know where she lives," Cecilia reminded her. - -"Leave me to discover i t!" Emily answered hotly. "Perhaps Mr. -Mirabel knows. I shall ask Mr. Mirabel." - -"I thought you would find a reason for returning to Mr. Mirabel," -Francine remarked. - -Before Emily could reply, one of the maids entered the room with -a wreath of roses in her hand. - -"Mr. Mirabel sends you these flowers, miss," the woman said, -addressing Emily. "The boy told me they were to be taken to your -room. I thought it was a mistake, and I have brought them to you -here." - -Francine, who happened to be nearest to the door, took the roses -from the girl on pretense of handing them to Emily. Her jealous -vigilance detected the one visible morsel of Mirabel's letter, -twisted up with the flowers. Had Emily entrapped him into a -secret correspondence with her? "A scrap of waste paper among -your roses," she said, crumpling it up in her hand as if she -meant to throw it away. - -But Emily was too quick for her. She caught Francine by the -wrist. "Waste paper or not," she said; "it was among my flowers -and it belongs to me." - -Francine gave up the letter, with a look which might have -startled Emily if she had noticed it. She handed the roses to -Cecilia. "I was making a wreath for you to wear this evening, my -dear--and I left it in the garden. It's not quite finished yet." - -Cecilia was delighted. "How lovely it is!" she exclaimed. "And -how very kind of you! I'll finish it myself." She turned away to -the conservatory. - -"I had no idea I was interfering with a letter," said Francine; -watching Emily with fiercely-attentive eyes, while she smoothed -out the crumpled paper. - -Having read what Mirabel had written to her, Emily looked up, and -saw that Alban was on the point of following Cecilia into the -conservatory. He had noticed something in Francine's face which -he was at a loss to understand, but which made her presence in -the room absolutely hateful to him. Emily followed and spoke to -him. - -"I am going back to the rose garden," she said. - -"For any particular purpose?" Alban inquired - -"For a purpose which, I am afraid, you won't approve of. I mean -to ask Mr. Mirabel if he knows Miss Jethro's address." - -"I hope he is as ignorant of it as I am," Alban answered gravely. - -"Are we going to quarrel over Miss Jethro, as we once quarreled -over Mrs. Rook?" Emily asked--with the readiest recovery of her -good humor. "Come! come! I am sure you are as anxious, in your -own private mind, to have this matter cleared up as I am." - -"With one difference--that I think of consequences, and you -don't." He said it, in his gentlest and kindest manner, and -stepped into the conservatory. - -"Never mind the consequences," she called after him, "if we can -only get at the truth. I hate being deceived!" - -"There is no person living who has better reason than you have to -say that." - -Emily looked round with a start. Alban was out of hearing. It was -Francine who had answered her. - -"What do you mean?" she said. - -Francine hesitated. A ghastly paleness overspread her face. - -"Are you ill?" Emily asked. - -"No--I am thinking." - -After waiting for a moment in silence, Emily moved away toward -the door of the drawing-room. Francine suddenly held up her hand. - -"Stop!" she cried. - -Emily stood still. - -"My mind is made up," Francine said. - -"Made up--to what?" - -"You asked what I meant, just now." - -"I did." - -"Well, my mind is made up to answer you. Miss Emily Brown, you -are leading a sadly frivolous life in this house. I am going to -give you something more serious to think about than your -flirtation with Mr. Mirabel. Oh, don't be impatient! I am coming -to the point. Without knowing it yourself, you have been the -victim of deception for years past--cruel deception--wicked -deception that puts on the mask of mercy." - -"Are you alluding to Miss Jethro?" Emily asked, in astonishment. -"I thought you were strangers to each other. Just now, you wanted -to know who she was." - -"I know nothing about her. I care nothing about her. I am not -thinking of Miss Jethro." - -"Who are you thinking of?" - -"I am thinking," Francine answered, "of your dead father." - - -CHAPTER XLVIII. - -INVESTIGATING. - -Having revived his sinking energies in the fruit garden, Mirabel -seated himself under the shade of a tree, and reflected on the -critical position in which he was placed by Francine's jealousy. - -If Miss de Sor continued to be Mr. Wyvil's guest, there seemed to -be no other choice before Mirabel than to leave Monksmoor--and to -trust to a favorable reply to his sister's invitation for the -free enjoyment of Emily's society under another roof. Try as he -might, he could arrive at no more satisfactory conclusion than -this. In his preoccupied state, time passed quickly. Nearly an -hour had elapsed before he rose to return to the house. - -Entering the hall, he was startled by a cry of terror in a -woman's voice, coming from the upper regions. At the same time -Mr. Wyvil, passing along the bedroom corridor after leaving the -music-room, was confronted by his daughter, hurrying out of -Emily's bedchamber in such a state of alarm that she could hardly -speak. - -"Gone!" she cried, the moment she saw her father. - -Mr. Wyvil took her in his arms and tried to compose her. "Who has -gone?" he asked. - -"Emily! Oh, papa, Emily has left us! She has heard dreadful -news--she told me so herself." - -"What news? How did she hear it?" - -"I don't know how she heard it. I went back to the drawing-room -to show her my roses--" - -"Was she alone?" - -"Yes! She frightened me--she seemed quite wild. She said, 'Let me -be by myself; I shall have to go home.' She kissed me--and ran up -to her room. Oh, I am such a fool! Anybody else would have taken -care not to lose sight of her." - -"How long did you leave her by herself?" - -"I can't say. I thought I would go and tell you. And then I got -anxious about her, and knocked at her door, and looked into the -room. Gone! Gone!" - -Mr. Wyvil rang the bell and confided Cecilia to the care of her -maid. Mirabel had already joined him in the corridor. They went -downstairs together and consulted with Alban. He volunteered to -make immediate inquiries at the railway station. Mr. Wyvil -followed him, as far as the lodge gate which opened on the -highroad--while Mirabel went to a second gate, at the opposite -extremity of the park. - -Mr. Wyvil obtained the first news of Emily. The lodge keeper had -seen her pass him, on her way out of the park, in the greatest -haste. He had called after her, "Anything wrong, miss?" and had -received no reply. Asked what time had elapsed since this had -happened, he was too confused to be able to answer with any -certainty. He knew that she had taken the road which led to the -station--and he knew no more. - -Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel met again at the house, and instituted an -examination of the servants. No further discoveries were made. - -The question which occurred to everybody was suggested by the -words which Cecilia had repeated to her father. Emily had said -she had "heard dreadful news"--how had that news reached her? The -one postal delivery at Monksmoor was in the morning. Had any -special messenger arrived, with a letter for Emily? The servants -were absolutely certain that no such person had entered the -house. The one remaining conclusion suggested that somebody must -have communicated the evil tidings by word of mouth. But here -again no evidence was to be obtained. No visitor had called -during the day, and no new guests had arrived. Investigation was -completely baffled. - -Alban returned from the railway, with news of the fugitive. - -He had reached the station, some time after the departure of the -London train. The clerk at the office recognized his description -of Emily, and stated that she had taken her ticket for London. -The station-master had opened the carriage door for her, and had -noticed that the young lady appeared to be very much agitated. -This information obtained, Alban had dispatched a telegram to -Emily--in Cecilia's name: "Pray send us a few words to relieve -our anxiety, and let us know if we can be of any service to you." - -This was plainly all that could be done--but Cecilia was not -satisfied. If her father had permitted it, she would have -followed Emily. Alban comforted her. He apologized to Mr. Wyvil -for shortening his visit, and announced his inten tion of -traveling to London by the next train. "We may renew our -inquiries to some advantage," he added, after hearing what had -happened in his absence, "if we can find out who was the last -person who saw her, and spoke to her, before your daughter found -her alone in the drawing-room. When I went out of the room, I -left her with Miss de Sor." - -The maid who waited on Miss de Sor was sent for. Francine had -been out, by herself, walking in the park. She was then in her -room, changing her dress. On hearing of Emily's sudden departure, -she had been (as the maid reported) "much shocked and quite at a -loss to understand what it meant." - -Joining her friends a few minutes later, Francine presented, so -far as personal appearance went, a strong contrast to the pale -and anxious faces round her. She looked wonderfully well, after -her walk. In other respects, she was in perfect harmony with the -prevalent feeling. She expressed herself with the utmost -propriety; her sympathy moved poor Cecilia to tears. - -"I am sure, Miss de Sor, you will try to help us?" Mr. Wyvil -began - -"With the greatest pleasure," Francine answered. - -"How long were you and Miss Emily Brown together, after Mr. -Morris left you?" - -"Not more than a quarter of an hour, I should think." - -"Did anything remarkable occur in the course of conversation?" - -"Nothing whatever." - -Alban interfered for the first time. "Did you say anything," he -asked, "which agitated or offended Miss Brown?" - -"That's rather an extraordinary question," Francine remarked. - -"Have you no other answer to give?" Alban inquired. - -"I answer--No!" she said, with a sudden outburst of anger. - -There, the matter dropped. While she spoke in reply to Mr. Wyvil, -Francine had confronted him without embarrassment. When Alban -interposed, she never looked at him--except when he provoked her -to anger. Did she remember that the man who was questioning her, -was also the man who had suspected her of writing the anonymous -letter? Alban was on his guard against himself, knowing how he -disliked her. But the conviction in his own mind was not to be -resisted. In some unimaginable way, Francine was associated with -Emily's flight from the house. - -The answer to the telegram sent from the railway station had not -arrived, when Alban took his departure for London. Cecilia's -suspense began to grow unendurable: she looked to Mirabel for -comfort, and found none. His office was to console, and his -capacity for performing that office was notorious among his -admirers; but he failed to present himself to advantage, when Mr. -Wyvil's lovely daughter had need of his services. He was, in -truth, too sincerely anxious and distressed to be capable of -commanding his customary resources of ready-made sentiment and -fluently-pious philosophy. Emily's influence had awakened the -only earnest and true feeling which had ever ennobled the popular -preacher's life. - -Toward evening, the long-expected telegram was received at last. -What could be said, under the circumstances, it said in these -words: - -"Safe at home--don't be uneasy about me--will write soon." - -With that promise they were, for the time, forced to be content. - - -BOOK THE FIFTH--THE COTTAGE. - -CHAPTER XLIX. - -EMILY SUFFERS. - -Mrs. Ellmother--left in charge of Emily's place of abode, and -feeling sensible of her lonely position from time to time--had -just thought of trying the cheering influence of a cup of tea, -when she heard a cab draw up at the cottage gate. A violent ring -at the bell followed. She opened the door--and found Emily on the -steps. One look at that dear and familiar face was enough for the -old servant. - -"God help us," she cried, "what's wrong now?" - -Without a word of reply, Emily led the way into the bedchamber -which had been the scene of Miss Letitia's death. Mrs. Ellmother -hesitated on the threshold. - -"Why do you bring me in here?" she asked. - -"Why did you try to keep me out?" Emily answered. - -"When did I try to keep you out, miss?" - -"When I came home from school, to nurse my aunt. Ah, you remember -now! Is it true--I ask you here, where your old mistress died--is -it true that my aunt deceived me about my father's death? And -that you knew it?" - -There was dead silence. Mrs. Ellmother trembled horribly--her -lips dropped apart--her eyes wandered round the room with a stare -of idiotic terror. "Is it her ghost tells you that?" she -whispered. "Where is her ghost? The room whirls round and round, -miss--and the air sings in my ears." - -Emily sprang forward to support her. She staggered to a chair, -and lifted her great bony hands in wild entreaty. "Don't frighten -me," she said. "Stand back." - -Emily obeyed her. She dashed the cold sweat off her forehead. -"You were talking about your father's death just now," she burst -out, in desperate defiant tones. "Well! we know it and we are -sorry for it--your father died suddenly." - -"My father died murdered in the inn at Zeeland! All the long way -to London, I have tried to doubt it. Oh, me, I know it now!" - -Answering in those words, she looked toward the bed. Harrowing -remembrances of her aunt's delirious self-betrayal made the room -unendurable to her. She ran out. The parlor door was open. -Entering the room, she passed by a portrait of her father, which -her aunt had hung on the wall over the fireplace. She threw -herself on the sofa and burst into a passionate fit of crying. -"Oh, my father--my dear, gentle, loving father; my first, best, -truest friend--murdered! murdered! Oh, God, where was your -justice, where was your mercy, when he died that dreadful death?" - -A hand was laid on her shoulder; a voice said to her, "Hush, my -child! God knows best." - -Emily looked up, and saw that Mrs. Ellmother had followed her. -"You poor old soul," she said, suddenly remembering; "I -frightened you in the other room." - -"I have got over it, my dear. I am old; and I have lived a hard -life. A hard life schools a person. I make no complaints." She -stopped, and began to shudder again. "Will you believe me if I -tell you something?" she asked. "I warned my self-willed -mistress. Standing by your father's coffin, I warned her. Hide -the truth as you may (I said), a time will come when our child -will know what you are keeping from her now. One or both of us -may live to see it. I am the one who has lived; no refuge in the -grave for me. I want to hear about it--there's no fear of -frightening or hurting me now. I want to hear how you found it -out. Was it by accident, my dear? or did a person tell you?" - -Emily's mind was far away from Mrs. Ellmother. She rose from the -sofa, with her hands held fast over her aching heart. - -"The one duty of my life," she said--"I am thinking of the one -duty of my life. Look! I am calm now; I am resigned to my hard -lot. Never, never again, can the dear memory of my father be what -it was! From this time, it is the horrid memory of a crime. The -crime has gone unpunished; the man has escaped others. He shall -not escape Me." She paused, and looked at Mrs. Ellmother -absently. "What did you say just now? You want to hear how I know -what I know? Naturally! naturally! Sit down here--sit down, my -old friend, on the sofa with me--and take your mind back to -Netherwoods. Alban Morris--" - -Mrs. Ellmother recoiled from Emily in dismay. "Don't tell me _he_ -had anything to do with it! The kindest of men; the best of men!" - -"The man of all men living who least deserves your good opinion -or mine," Emily answered sternly. - -"You!" Mrs. Ellmother exclaimed, "_you_ say that!" - -"I say it. He--who won on me to like him--he was in the -conspiracy to deceive me; and you know it! He heard me talk of -the newspaper story of the murder of my father--I say, he heard -me talk of it composedly, talk of it carelessly, in the innocent -belief that it was the murder of a stranger--and he never opened -his lips to prevent that horrid profanation! He never even said, -speak of something else; I won't hear you! No more of him! God -forbid I should ever see him again. No! Do what I told you. Carry -your mind back to Netherwoods. One night you let Francine de Sor -frighten you. You ran away from her into the garden. Keep quiet! -At your age, must I set you an example of self-control? - -"I want to know, Miss Emily, where Francine - de Sor is now?" - -"She is at the house in the country, which I have left." - -"Where does she go next, if you please? Back to Miss Ladd?" - -"I suppose so. What interest have you in knowing where she goes -next?" - -"I won't interrupt you, miss. It's true that I ran away into the -garden. I can guess who followed me. How did she find her way to -me and Mr. Morris, in the dark?" - -"The smell of tobacco guided her--she knew who smoked--she had -seen him talking to you, on that very day--she followed the -scent--she heard what you two said to each other--and she has -repeated it to me. Oh, my old friend, the malice of a revengeful -girl has enlightened me, when you, my nurse--and he, my -lover--left me in the dark: it has told me how my father died!" - -"That's said bitterly, miss!" - -"Is it said truly?" - -"No. It isn't said truly of myself. God knows you would never -have been kept in the dark, if your aunt had listened to me. I -begged and prayed--I went down on my knees to her--I warned her, -as I told you just now. Must I tell _you_ what a headstrong woman -Miss Letitia was? She insisted. She put the choice before me of -leaving her at once and forever--or giving in. I wouldn't have -given in to any other creature on the face of this earth. I am -obstinate, as you have often told me. Well, your aunt's obstinacy -beat mine; I was too fond of her to say No. Besides, if you ask -me who was to blame in the first place, I tell you it wasn't your -aunt; she was frightened into it." - -"Who frightened her?" - -"Your godfather--the great London surgeon--he who was visiting in -our house at the time." - -"Sir Richard?" - -"Yes--Sir Richard. He said he wouldn't answer for the -consequences, in the delicate state of your health, if we told -you the truth. Ah, he had it all his own way after that. He went -with Miss Letitia to the inquest; he won over the coroner and the -newspaper men to his will; he kept your aunt's name out of the -papers; he took charge of the coffin; he hired the undertaker and -his men, strangers from London; he wrote the certificate--who but -he! Everybody was cap in hand to the famous man!" - -"Surely, the servants and the neighbors asked questions?" - -"Hundreds of questions! What did that matter to Sir Richard? They -were like so many children, in _his_ hands. And, mind you, the -luck helped him. To begin with, there was the common name. Who -was to pick out your poor father among the thousands of James -Browns? Then, again, the house and lands went to the male heir, -as they called him--the man your father quarreled with in the -bygone time. He brought his own establishment with him. Long -before you got back from the friends you were staying with--don't -you remember it?--we had cleared out of the house; we were miles -and miles away; and the old servants were scattered abroad, -finding new situations wherever they could. How could you suspect -us? We had nothing to fear in that way; but my conscience pricked -me. I made another attempt to prevail on Miss Letitia, when you -had recovered your health. I said, 'There's no fear of a relapse -now; break it to her gently, but tell her the truth.' No! Your -aunt was too fond of you. She daunted me with dreadful fits of -crying, when I tried to persuade her. And that wasn't the worst -of it. She bade me remember what an excitable man your father -was--she reminded me that the misery of your mother's death laid -him low with brain fever--she said, 'Emily takes after her -father; I have heard you say it yourself; she has his -constitution, and his sensitive nerves. Don't you know how she -loved him--how she talks of him to this day? Who can tell (if we -are not careful) what dreadful mischief we may do?' That was how -my mistress worked on me. I got infected with her fears; it was -as if I had caught an infection of disease. Oh, my dear, blame me -if it must be; but don't forget how I have suffered for it since! -I was driven away from my dying mistress, in terror of what she -might say, while you were watching at her bedside. I have lived -in fear of what you might ask me--and have longed to go back to -you--and have not had the courage to do it. Look at me now!" - -The poor woman tried to take out her handkerchief; her quivering -hand helplessly entangled itself in her dress. "I can't even dry -my eyes," she said faintly. "Try to forgive me, miss!" - -Emily put her arms round the old nurse's neck. "It is _you_," she -said sadly, "who must forgive me." - -For a while they were silent. Through the window that was open to -the little garden, came the one sound that could be heard--the -gentle trembling of leaves in the evening wind. - -The silence was harshly broken by the bell at the cottage door. -They both started. - -Emily's heart beat fast. "Who can it be?" she said. - -Mrs. Ellmother rose. "Shall I say you can't see anybody?" she -asked, before leaving the room. - -"Yes! yes!" - -Emily heard the door opened--heard low voices in the passage. -There was a momentary interval. Then, Mrs. Ellmother returned. -She said nothing. Emily spoke to her. - -"Is it a visitor?" - -"Yes." - -"Have you said I can't see anybody?" - -"I couldn't say it." - -"Why not?" - -"Don't be hard on him, my dear. It's Mr. Alban Morris." - - -CHAPTER L. - -MISS LADD ADVISES. - -Mrs. Ellmother sat by the dying embers of the kitchen fire; -thinking over the events of the day in perplexity and distress. - -She had waited at the cottage door for a friendly word with -Alban, after he had left Emily. The stern despair in his face -warned her to let him go in silence. She had looked into the -parlor next. Pale and cold, Emily lay on the sofa--sunk in -helpless depression of body and mind. "Don't speak to me," she -whispered; "I am quite worn out." It was but too plain that the -view of Alban's conduct which she had already expressed, was the -view to which she had adhered at the interview between them. They -had parted in grief---perhaps in anger--perhaps forever. Mrs. -Ellmother lifted Emily in compassionate silence, and carried her -upstairs, and waited by her until she slept. - -In the still hours of the night, the thoughts of the faithful old -servant--dwelling for a while on past and present--advanced, by -slow degrees, to consideration of the doubtful future. Measuring, -to the best of her ability, the responsibility which had fallen -on her, she felt that it was more than she could bear, or ought -to bear, alone. To whom could she look for help? - -The gentlefolks at Monksmoor were strangers to her. Doctor Allday -was near at hand--but Emily had said, "Don't send for him; he -will torment me with questions--and I want to keep my mind quiet, -if I can." But one person was left, to whose ever-ready kindness -Mrs. Ellmother could appeal--and that person was Miss Ladd. - -It would have been easy to ask the help of the good -schoolmistress in comforting and advising the favorite pupil whom -she loved. But Mrs. Ellmother had another object in view: she was -determined that the cold-blooded cruelty of Emily's treacherous -friend should not be allowed to triumph with impunity. If an -ignorant old woman could do nothing else, she could tell the -plain truth, and could leave Miss Ladd to decide whether such a -person as Francine deserved to remain under her care. - -To feel justified in taking this step was one thing: to put it -all clearly in writing was another. After vainly making the -attempt overnight, Mrs. Ellmother tore up her letter, and -communicated with Miss Ladd by means of a telegraphic message, in -the morning. "Miss Emily is in great distress. I must not leave -her. I have something besides to say to you which cannot be put -into a letter. Will you please come to us?" - -Later in the forenoon, Mrs. Ellmother was called to the door by -the arrival of a visitor. The personal appearance of the stranger -impressed her favorably. He was a handsome little gentleman; his -manners were winning, and his voice was singularly pleasant to -hear. - -"I have come from Mr. Wyvil's house in the country," he said; -"and I bring a letter from his daughter. May I take the -opportunity of asking if Miss Emily is well?" - -"Far from it, sir, I am sorry to say. She is so poorly that she -keeps her bed." - -At this reply, the visitor's face revealed such sincere sympathy -and regret, that Mrs. Ellmo ther was interested in him: she added -a word more. "My mistress has had a hard trial to bear, sir. I -hope there is no bad news for her in the young lady's letter?" - -"On the contrary, there is news that she will be glad to -hear--Miss Wyvil is coming here this evening. Will you excuse my -asking if Miss Emily has had medical advice?" - -"She won't hear of seeing the doctor, sir. He's a good friend of -hers--and he lives close by. I am unfortunately alone in the -house. If I could leave her, I would go at once and ask his -advice." - -"Let _me_ go!" Mirabel eagerly proposed. - -Mrs. Ellmother's face brightened. "That's kindly thought of, -sir--if you don't mind the trouble." - -"My good lady, nothing is a trouble in your young mistress's -service. Give me the doctor's name and address--and tell me what -to say to him." - -"There's one thing you must be careful of," Mrs. Ellmother -answered. "He mustn't come here, as if he had been sent for--she -would refuse to see him." - -Mirabel understood her. "I will not forget to caution him. Kindly -tell Miss Emily I called--my name is Mirabel. I will return -to-morrow." - -He hastened away on his errand--only to find that he had arrived -too late. Doctor Allday had left London; called away to a serious -case of illness. He was not expected to get back until late in -the afternoon. Mirabel left a message, saying that he would -return in the evening. - -The next visitor who arrived at the cottage was the trusty -friend, in whose generous nature Mrs. Ellmother had wisely placed -confidence. Miss Ladd had resolved to answer the telegram in -person, the moment she read it. - -"If there is bad news," she said, "let me hear it at once. I am -not well enough to bear suspense; my busy life at the school is -beginning to tell on me." - -"There is nothing that need alarm you, ma'am--but there is a -great deal to say, before you see Miss Emily. My stupid head -turns giddy with thinking of it. I hardly know where to begin." - -"Begin with Emily," Miss Ladd suggested. - -Mrs. Ellmother took the advice. She described Emily's unexpected -arrival on the previous day; and she repeated what had passed -between them afterward. Miss Ladd's first impulse, when she had -recovered her composure, was to go to Emily without waiting to -hear more. Not presuming to stop her, Mrs. Ellmother ventured to -put a question "Do you happen to have my telegram about you, -ma'am?" Miss Ladd produced it. "Will you please look at the last -part of it again?" - -Miss Ladd read the words: "I have something besides to say to you -which cannot be put into a letter." She at once returned to her -chair. - -"Does what you have still to tell me refer to any person whom I -know?" she said. - -"It refers, ma'am, to Miss de Sor. I am afraid I shall distress -you." - -"What did I say, when I came in?" Miss Ladd asked. "Speak out -plainly; and try--it's not easy, I know--but try to begin at the -beginning." - -Mrs. Ellmother looked back through her memory of past events, and -began by alluding to the feeling of curiosity which she had -excited in Francine, on the day when Emily had made them known to -one another. From this she advanced to the narrative of what had -taken place at Netherwoods--to the atrocious attempt to frighten -her by means of the image of wax--to the discovery made by -Francine in the garden at night--and to the circumstances under -which that discovery had been communicated to Emily. - -Miss Ladd's face reddened with indignation. "Are you sure of all -that you have said?" she asked. - -"I am quite sure, ma'am. I hope I have not done wrong," Mrs. -Ellmother added simply, "in telling you all this?" - -"Wrong?" Miss Ladd repeated warmly. "If that wretched girl has no -defense to offer, she is a disgrace to my school--and I owe you a -debt of gratitude for showing her to me in her true character. -She shall return at once to Netherwoods; and she shall answer me -to my entire satisfaction--or leave my house. What cruelty! what -duplicity! In all my experience of girls, I have never met with -the like of it. Let me go to my dear little Emily--and try to -forget what I have heard." - -Mrs. Ellmother led the good lady to Emily's room--and, returning -to the lower part of the house, went out into the garden. The -mental effort that she had made had left its result in an aching -head, and in an overpowering sense of depression. "A mouthful of -fresh air will revive me," she thought. - -The front garden and back garden at the cottage communicated with -each other. Walking slowly round and round, Mrs. Ellmother heard -footsteps on the road outside, which stopped at the gate. She -looked through the grating, and discovered Alban Morris. - -"Come in, sir!" she said, rejoiced to see him. He obeyed in -silence. The full view of his face shocked Mrs. Ellmother. Never -in her experience of the friend who had been so kind to her at -Netherwoods, had he looked so old and so haggard as he looked -now. "Oh, Mr. Alban, I see how she has distressed you! Don't take -her at her word. Keep a good heart, sir--young girls are never -long together of the same mind." - -Alban gave her his hand. "I mustn't speak about it," he said. -"Silence helps me to bear my misfortune as becomes a man. I have -had some hard blows in my time: they don't seem to have blunted -my sense of feeling as I thought they had. Thank God, she doesn't -know how she has made me suffer! I want to ask her pardon for -having forgotten myself yesterday. I spoke roughly to her, at one -time. No: I won't intrude on her; I have said I am sorry, in -writing. Do you mind giving it to her? Good-by--and thank you. I -mustn't stay longer; Miss Ladd expects me at Netherwoods." - -"Miss Ladd is in the house, sir, at this moment." - -"Here, in London!" - -"Upstairs, with Miss Emily." - -"Upstairs? Is Emily ill?" - -"She is getting better, sir. Would you like to see Miss Ladd?" - -"I should indeed! I have something to say to her--and time is of -importance to me. May I wait in the garden?" - -"Why not in the parlor, sir?" - -"The parlor reminds me of happier days. In time, I may have -courage enough to look at the room again. Not now." - -"If she doesn't make it up with that good man," Mrs. Ellmother -thought, on her way back to the house, "my nurse-child is what I -have never believed her to be yet--she's a fool." - -In half an hour more, Miss Ladd joined Alban on the little plot -of grass behind the cottage. "I bring Emily's reply to your -letter," she said. "Read it, before you speak to me." - -Alban read it: "Don't suppose you have offended me--and be -assured that I feel gratefully the tone in which your note is -written. I try to write forbearingly on my side; I wish I could -write acceptably as well. It is not to be done. I am as unable as -ever to enter into your motives. You are not my relation; you -were under no obligation of secrecy: you heard me speak -ignorantly of the murder of my father, as if it had been the -murder of a stranger; and yet you kept me--deliberately, cruelly -kept me--deceived! The remembrance of it burns me like fire. I -cannot--oh, Alban, I cannot restore you to the place in my -estimation which you have lost! If you wish to help me to bear my -trouble, I entreat you not to write to me again." - -Alban offered the letter silently to Miss Ladd. She signed to him -to keep it. - -"I know what Emily has written," she said; "and I have told her, -what I now tell you--she is wrong; in every way, wrong. It is the -misfortune of her impetuous nature that she rushes to -conclusions--and those conclusions once formed, she holds to them -with all the strength of her character. In this matter, she has -looked at her side of the question exclusively; she is blind to -your side." - -"Not willfully!" Alban interposed. - -Miss Ladd looked at him with admiration. "You defend Emily?" she -said. - -"I love her," Alban answered. - -Miss Ladd felt for him, as Mrs. Ellmother had felt for him. -"Trust to time, Mr. Morris," she resumed. "The danger to be -afraid of is--the danger of some headlong action, on her part, in -the interval. Who can say what the end may be, if she persists in -her present way of thinking? There is something monstrous, in a -young girl declaring that it is _her_ duty to pursue a murderer, -and to bring him to justice! Don't you see it yourself?" - -A lban still defended Emily. "It seems to me to be a natural -impulse," he said--"natural, and noble." - -"Noble!" Miss Ladd exclaimed. - -"Yes--for it grows out of the love which has not died with her -father's death." - -"Then you encourage her?" - -"With my whole heart--if she would give me the opportunity!" - -"We won't pursue the subject, Mr. Morris. I am told by Mrs. -Ellmother that you have something to say to me. What is it?" - -"I have to ask you," Alban replied, "to let me resign my -situation at Netherwoods." - -Miss Ladd was not only surprised; she was also--a very rare thing -with her--inclined to be suspicious. After what he had said to -Emily, it occurred to her that Alban might be meditating some -desperate project, with the hope of recovering his lost place in -her favor. - -"Have you heard of some better employment?" she asked. - -"I have heard of no employment. My mind is not in a state to give -the necessary attention to my pupils." - -"Is that your only reason for wishing to leave me?" - -"It is one of my reasons." - -"The only one which you think it necessary to mention?" - -"Yes." - -"I shall be sorry to lose you, Mr. Morris." - -"Believe me, Miss Ladd, I am not ungrateful for your kindness." - -"Will you let me, in all kindness, say something more?" Miss Ladd -answered. "I don't intrude on your secrets--I only hope that you -have no rash project in view." - -"I don't understand you, Miss Ladd." - -"Yes, Mr. Morris--you do." - -She shook hands with him--and went back to Emily. - - -CHAPTER LI. - -THE DOCTOR SEES. - -Alban returned to Netherwoods--to continue his services, until -another master could be found to take his place. - -By a later train Miss Ladd followed him. Emily was too well aware -of the importance of the mistress's presence to the well-being of -the school, to permit her to remain at the cottage. It was -understood that they were to correspond, and that Emily's room -was waiting for her at Netherwoods, whenever she felt inclined to -occupy it - -Mrs. Ellmother made the tea, that evening, earlier than usual. -Being alone again with Emily, it struck her that she might take -advantage of her position to say a word in Alban's favor. She had -chosen her time unfortunately. The moment she pronounced the -name, Emily checked her by a look, and spoke of another -person--that person being Miss Jethro. - -Mrs. Ellmother at once entered her protest, in her own downright -way. "Whatever you do," she said, "don't go back to that! What -does Miss Jethro matter to you?" - -"I am more interested in her than you suppose--I happen to know -why she left the school." - -"Begging your pardon, miss, that's quite impossible!" - -"She left the school," Emily persisted, "for a serious reason. -Miss Ladd discovered that she had used false references." - -"Good Lord! who told you that?" - -"You see I know it. I asked Miss Ladd how she got her -information. She was bound by a promise never to mention the -person's name. I didn't say it to her--but I may say it to you. I -am afraid I have an idea of who the person was." - -"No," Mrs. Ellmother obstinately asserted, "you can't possibly -know who it was! How should you know?" - -"Do you wish me to repeat what I heard in that room opposite, -when my aunt was dying?" - -"Drop it, Miss Emily! For God's sake, drop it!" - -"I can't drop it. It's dreadful to me to have suspicions of my -aunt--and no better reason for them than what she said in a state -of delirium. Tell me, if you love me, was it her wandering fancy? -or was it the truth?" - -"As I hope to be saved, Miss Emily, I can only guess as you do--I -don't rightly know. My mistress trusted me half way, as it were. -I'm afraid I have a rough tongue of my own sometimes. I offended -her--and from that time she kept her own counsel. What she did, -she did in the dark, so far as I was concerned." - -"How did you offend her?" - -"I shall be obliged to speak of your father if I tell you how?" - -"Speak of him." - -"_He_ was not to blame--mind that!" Mrs. Ellmother said -earnestly. "If I wasn't certain of what I say now you wouldn't -get a word out of me. Good harmless man--there's no denying -it--he _was_ in love with Miss Jethro! What's the matter?" - -Emily was thinking of her memorable conversation with the -disgraced teacher on her last night at school. "Nothing" she -answered. "Go on." - -"If he had not tried to keep it secret from us, "Mrs. Ellmother -resumed, "your aunt might never have taken it into her head that -he was entangled in a love affair of the shameful sort. I don't -deny that I helped her in her inquiries; but it was only because -I felt sure from the first that the more she discovered the more -certainly my master's innocence would show itself. He used to go -away and visit Miss Jethro privately. In the time when your aunt -trusted me, we never could find out where. She made that -discovery afterward for herself (I can't tell you how long -afterward); and she spent money in employing mean wretches to pry -into Miss Jethro's past life. She had (if you will excuse me for -saying it) an old maid's hatred of the handsome young woman, who -lured your father away from home, and set up a secret (in a -manner of speaking) between her brother and herself. I won't tell -you how we looked at letters and other things which he forgot to -leave under lock and key. I will only say there was one bit, in a -journal he kept, which made me ashamed of myself. I read it out -to Miss Letitia; and I told her in so many words, not to count -any more on me. No; I haven't got a copy of the words--I can -remember them without a copy. 'Even if my religion did not forbid -me to peril my soul by leading a life of sin with this woman whom -I love'--that was how it began--'the thought of my daughter would -keep me pure. No conduct of mine shall ever make me unworthy of -my child's affection and respect.' There! I'm making you cry; I -won't stay here any longer. All that I had to say has been said. -Nobody but Miss Ladd knows for certain whether your aunt was -innocent or guilty in the matter of Miss Jethro's disgrace. -Please to excuse me; my work's waiting downstairs." - - -From time to time, as she pursued her domestic labors, Mrs. -Ellmother thought of Mirabel. Hours on hours had passed--and the -doctor had not appeared. Was he too busy to spare even a few -minutes of his time? Or had the handsome little gentleman, after -promising so fairly, failed to perform his errand? This last -doubt wronged Mirabel. He had engaged to return to the doctor's -house; and he kept his word. - -Doctor Allday was at home again, and was seeing patients. -Introduced in his turn, Mirabel had no reason to complain of his -reception. At the same time, after he had stated the object of -his visit, something odd began to show itself in the doctor's -manner. - -He looked at Mirabel with an appearance of uneasy curiosity; and -he contrived an excuse for altering the visitor's position in the -room, so that the light fell full on Mirabel's face. - -"I fancy I must have seen you," the doctor said, "at some former -time." - -"I am ashamed to say I don't remember it," Mirabel answered. - -"Ah, very likely I'm wrong! I'll call on Miss Emily, sir, you may -depend on it." - -Left in his consulting-room, Doctor Allday failed to ring the -bell which summoned the next patient who was waiting for him. He -took his diary from the table drawer, and turned to the daily -entries for the past month of July. - -Arriving at the fifteenth day of the month, he glanced at the -first lines of writing: "A visit from a mysterious lady, calling -herself Miss Jethro. Our conference led to some very unexpected -results." - -No: that was not what he was in search of. He looked a little -lower down: and read on regularly, from that point, as follows: - -"Called on Miss Emily, in great anxiety about the discoveries -which she might make among her aunt's papers. Papers all -destroyed, thank God--except the Handbill, offering a reward for -discovery of the murderer, which she found in the scrap-book. -Gave her back the Handbill. Emily much surprised that the wretch -should have escaped, with such a careful description of him -circulated everywhere. She read the description aloud to me, in -her nice clear voice: 'Supposed age between twenty-five and -thirty years. A well-made man of small stature. Fai r complexion, -delicate features, clear blue eyes. Hair light, and cut rather -short. Clean shaven, with the exception of narrow -half-whiskers'--and so on. Emily at a loss to understand how the -fugitive could disguise himself. Reminded her that he could -effectually disguise his head and face (with time to help him) by -letting his hair grow long, and cultivating his beard. Emily not -convinced, even by this self-evident view of the case. Changed -the subject." - -The doctor put away his diary, and rang the bell. - -"Curious," he thought. "That dandified little clergyman has -certainly reminded me of my discussion with Emily, more than two -months since. Was it his flowing hair, I wonder? or his splendid -beard? Good God! suppose it should turn out--?" - -He was interrupted by the appearance of his patient. Other ailing -people followed. Doctor Allday's mind was professionally occupied -for the rest of the evening. - - -CHAPTER LII. - -"IF I COULD FIND A FRIEND!" - -Shortly after Miss Ladd had taken her departure, a parcel arrived -for Emily, bearing the name of a bookseller printed on the label. -It was large, and it was heavy. "Reading enough, I should think, -to last for a lifetime," Mrs. Ellmother remarked, after carrying -the parcel upstairs. - -Emily called her back as she was leaving the room. "I want to -caution you," she said, "before Miss Wyvil comes. Don't tell -her--don't tell anybody--how my father met his death. If other -persons are taken into our confidence, they will talk of it. We -don't know how near to us the murderer may be. The slightest hint -may put him on his guard." - -"Oh, miss, are you still thinking of that!" - -"I think of nothing else." - -"Bad for your mind, Miss Emily--and bad for your body, as your -looks show. I wish you would take counsel with some discreet -person, before you move in this matter by yourself." - -Emily sighed wearily. "In my situation, where is the person whom -I can trust?" - -"You can trust the good doctor." - -"Can I? Perhaps I was wrong when I told you I wouldn't see him. -He might be of some use to me." - -Mrs. Ellmother made the most of this concession, in the fear that -Emily might change her mind. "Doctor Allday may call on you -tomorrow," she said. - -"Do you mean that you have sent for him?" - -"Don't be angry! I did it for the best--and Mr. Mirabel agreed -with me." - -"Mr. Mirabel! What have you told Mr. Mirabel?" - -"Nothing, except that you are ill. When he heard that, he -proposed to go for the doctor. He will be here again to-morrow, -to ask for news of your health. Will you see him?" - -"I don't know yet--I have other things to think of. Bring Miss -Wyvil up here when she comes." - -"Am I to get the spare room ready for her?" - -"No. She is staying with her father at the London house." - -Emily made that reply almost with an air of relief. When Cecilia -arrived, it was only by an effort that she could show grateful -appreciation of the sympathy of her dearest friend. When the -visit came to an end, she felt an ungrateful sense of freedom: -the restraint was off her mind; she could think again of the one -terrible subject that had any interest for her now. Over love, -over friendship, over the natural enjoyment of her young life, -predominated the blighting resolution which bound her to avenge -her father's death. Her dearest remembrances of him--tender -remembrances once--now burned in her (to use her own words) like -fire. It was no ordinary love that had bound parent and child -together in the bygone time. Emily had grown from infancy to -girlhood, owing all the brightness of her life--a life without a -mother, without brothers, without sisters--to her father alone. -To submit to lose this beloved, this only companion, by the cruel -stroke of disease was of all trials of resignation the hardest to -bear. But to be severed from him by the murderous hand of a man, -was more than Emily's fervent nature could passively endure. -Before the garden gate had closed on her friend she had returned -to her one thought, she was breathing again her one aspiration. -The books that she had ordered, with her own purpose in -view--books that might supply her want of experience, and might -reveal the perils which beset the course that lay before -her--were unpacked and spread out on the table. Hour after hour, -when the old servant believed that her mistress was in bed, she -was absorbed over biographies in English and French, which -related the stratagems by means of which famous policemen had -captured the worst criminals of their time. From these, she -turned to works of fiction, which found their chief topic of -interest in dwelling on the discovery of hidden crime. The night -passed, and dawn glimmered through the window--and still she -opened book after book with sinking courage--and still she gained -nothing but the disheartening conviction of her inability to -carry out her own plans. Almost every page that she turned over -revealed the immovable obstacles set in her way by her sex and -her age. Could _she_ mix with the people, or visit the scenes, -familiar to the experience of men (in fact and in fiction), who -had traced the homicide to his hiding-place, and had marked him -among his harmless fellow-creatures with the brand of Cain? No! A -young girl following, or attempting to follow, that career, must -reckon with insult and outrage--paying their abominable tribute -to her youth and her beauty, at every turn. What proportion would -the men who might respect her bear to the men who might make her -the object of advances, which it was hardly possible to imagine -without shuddering. She crept exhausted to her bed, the most -helpless, hopeless creature on the wide surface of the earth--a -girl self-devoted to the task of a man. - - - -Careful to perform his promise to Mirabel, without delay, the -doctor called on Emily early in the morning--before the hour at -which he usually entered his consulting-room. - -"Well? What's the matter with the pretty young mistress?" he -asked, in his most abrupt manner, when Mrs. Ellmother opened the -door. "Is it love? or jealousy? or a new dress with a wrinkle in -it?" - -"You will hear about it, sir, from Miss Emily herself. I am -forbidden to say anything." - -"But you mean to say something--for all that?" - -"Don't joke, Doctor Allday! The state of things here is a great -deal too serious for joking. Make up your mind to be surprised--I -say no more." - -Before the doctor could ask what this meant, Emily opened the -parlor door. "Come in!" she said, impatiently. - -Doctor Allday's first greeting was strictly professional. "My -dear child, I never expected this," he began. "You are looking -wretchedly ill." He attempted to feel her pulse. She drew her -hand away from him. - -"It's my mind that's ill," she answered. "Feeling my pulse won't -cure me of anxiety and distress. I want advice; I want help. Dear -old doctor, you have always been a good friend to me--be a better -friend than ever now." - -"What can I do?" - -"Promise you will keep secret what I am going to say to you--and -listen, pray listen patiently, till I have done." - -Doctor Allday promised, and listened. He had been, in some degree -at least, prepared for a surprise--but the disclosure which now -burst on him was more than his equanimity could sustain. He -looked at Emily in silent dismay. She had surprised and shocked -him, not only by what she said, but by what she unconsciously -suggested. Was it possible that Mirabel's personal appearance had -produced on her the same impression which was present in his own -mind? His first impulse, when he was composed enough to speak, -urged him to put the question cautiously. - -"If you happened to meet with the suspected man," he said, "have -you any means of identifying him?" - -"None whatever, doctor. If you would only think it over--" - -He stopped her there; convinced of the danger of encouraging her, -and resolved to act on his conviction. - -"I have enough to occupy me in my profession," he said. "Ask your -other friend to think it over." - -"What other friend?" - -"Mr. Alban Morris." - -The moment he pronounced the name, he saw that he had touched on -some painful association. "Has Mr. Morris refused to help you?" -he inquired. - -"I have not asked him to help me." - -"Why?" - -There was no choice (with such a man - as Doctor Allday) between offending him or answering him. Emily -adopted the last alternative. On this occasion she had no reason -to complain of his silence. - -"Your view of Mr. Morris's conduct surprises me," he -replied--"surprises me more than I can say," he added; -remembering that he too was guilty of having kept her in -ignorance of the truth, out of regard--mistaken regard, as it now -seemed to be--for her peace of mind. - -"Be good to me, and pass it over if I am wrong," Emily said: "I -can't dispute with you; I can only tell you what I feel. You have -always been so kind to me--may I count on your kindness still?" - -Doctor Allday relapsed into silence. - -"May I at least ask," she went on, "if you know anything of -persons--" She paused, discouraged by the cold expression of -inquiry in the old man's eyes as he looked at her. - -"What persons?" he said. - -"Persons whom I suspect." - -"Name them." - -Emily named the landlady of the inn at Zeeland: she could now -place the right interpretation on Mrs. Rook's conduct, when the -locket had been put into her hand at Netherwoods. Doctor Allday -answered shortly and stiffly: he had never even seen Mrs. Rook. -Emily mentioned Miss Jethro next--and saw at once that she had -interested him. - -"What do you suspect Miss Jethro of doing?" he asked. - -"I suspect her of knowing more of my father's death than she is -willing to acknowledge," Emily replied. - -The doctor's manner altered for the better. "I agree with you," -he said frankly. "But I have some knowledge of that lady. I warn -you not to waste time and trouble in trying to discover the weak -side of Miss Jethro." - -"That was not my experience of her at school," Emily rejoined. -"At the same time I don't know what may have happened since those -days. I may perhaps have lost the place I once held in her -regard." - -"How?" - -"Through my aunt." - -"Through your aunt?" - -"I hope and trust I am wrong," Emily continued; "but I fear my -aunt had something to do with Miss Jethro's dismissal from the -school--and in that case Miss Jethro may have found it out." Her -eyes, resting on the doctor, suddenly brightened. "You know -something about it!" she exclaimed. - -He considered a little--whether he should or should not tell her -of the letter addressed by Miss Ladd to Miss Letitia, which he -had found at the cottage. - -"If I could satisfy you that your fears are well founded," he -asked, "would the discovery keep you away from Miss Jethro?" - -"I should be ashamed to speak to her--even if we met." - -"Very well. I can tell you positively, that your aunt was the -person who turned Miss Jethro out of the school. When I get home, -I will send you a letter that proves it." - -Emily's head sank on her breast. "Why do I only hear of this -now?" she said. - -"Because I had no reason for letting you know of it, before -to-day. If I have done nothing else, I have at least succeeded in -keeping you and Miss Jethro apart." - -Emily looked at him in alarm. He went on without appearing to -notice that he had startled her. "I wish to God I could as easily -put a stop to the mad project which you are contemplating." - -"The mad project?" Emily repeated. "Oh, Doctor Allday. Do you -cruelly leave me to myself, at the time of all others, when I am -most in need of your sympathy?" - -That appeal moved him. He spoke more gently; he pitied, while he -condemned her. - -"My poor dear child, I should be cruel indeed, if I encouraged -you. You are giving yourself up to an enterprise, so shockingly -unsuited to a young girl like you, that I declare I contemplate -it with horror. Think, I entreat you, think; and let me hear that -you have yielded--not to my poor entreaties--but to your own -better sense!" His voice faltered; his eyes moistened. "I shall -make a fool of myself," he burst out furiously, "if I stay here -any longer. Good-by." - -He left her. - -She walked to the window, and looked out at the fair morning. No -one to feel for her--no one to understand her--nothing nearer -that could speak to poor mortality of hope and encouragement than -the bright heaven, so far away! She turned from the window. "The -sun shines on the murderer," she thought, "as it shines on me." - -She sat down at the table, and tried to quiet her mind; to think -steadily to some good purpose. Of the few friends that she -possessed, every one had declared that she was in the wrong. Had -_they_ lost the one loved being of all beings on earth, and lost -him by the hand of a homicide--and that homicide free? All that -was faithful, all that was devoted in the girl's nature, held her -to her desperate resolution as with a hand of iron. If she shrank -at that miserable moment, it was not from her design--it was from -the sense of her own helplessness. "Oh, if I had been a man!" she -said to herself. "Oh, if I could find a friend!" - - -CHAPTER LIII. - -THE FRIEND IS FOUND. - -Mrs. Ellmother looked into the parlor. "I told you Mr. Mirabel -would call again," she announced. "Here he is." - -"Has he asked to see me?" - -"He leaves it entirely to you." - -For a moment, and a moment only, Emily was undecided. "Show him -in," she said. - -Mirabel's embarrassment was visible the moment he entered the -room. For the first time in his life--in the presence of a -woman--the popular preacher was shy. He who had taken hundreds of -fair hands with sympathetic pressure--he who had offered fluent -consolation, abroad and at home, to beauty in distress--was -conscious of a rising color, and was absolutely at a loss for -words when Emily received him. And yet, though he appeared at -disadvantage--and, worse still, though he was aware of it -himself--there was nothing contemptible in his look and manner. -His silence and confusion revealed a change in him which inspired -respect. Love had developed this spoiled darling of foolish -congregations, this effeminate pet of drawing-rooms and boudoirs, -into the likeness of a Man--and no woman, in Emily's position, -could have failed to see that it was love which she herself had -inspired. - -Equally ill at ease, they both took refuge in the commonplace -phrases suggested by the occasion. These exhausted there was a -pause. Mirabel alluded to Cecilia, as a means of continuing the -conversation. - -"Have you seen Miss Wyvil?" he inquired. - -"She was here last night; and I expect to see her again to-day -before she returns to Monksmoor with her father. Do you go back -with them?" - -"Yes--if _you_ do." - -"I remain in London." - -"Then I remain in London, too." - -The strong feeling that was in him had forced its way to -expression at last. In happier days--when she had persistently -refused to let him speak to her seriously--she would have been -ready with a light-hearted reply. She was silent now. Mirabel -pleaded with her not to misunderstand him, by an honest -confession of his motives which presented him under a new aspect. -The easy plausible man, who had hardly ever seemed to be in -earnest before--meant, seriously meant, what he said now. - -"May I try to explain myself?" he asked. - -"Certainly, if you wish it." - -"Pray, don't suppose me capable," Mirabel said earnestly, "of -presuming to pay you an idle compliment. I cannot think of you, -alone and in trouble, without feeling anxiety which can only be -relieved in one way--I must be near enough to hear of you, day by -day. Not by repeating this visit! Unless you wish it, I will not -again cross the threshold of your door. Mrs. Ellmother will tell -me if your mind is more at ease; Mrs. Ellmother will tell me if -there is any new trial of your fortitude. She needn't even -mention that I have been speaking to her at the door; and she may -be sure, and you may be sure, that I shall ask no inquisitive -questions. I can feel for you in your misfortune, without wishing -to know what that misfortune is. If I can ever be of the smallest -use, think of me as your other servant. Say to Mrs. Ellmother, 'I -want him'--and say no more." - -Where is the woman who could have resisted such devotion as -this--inspired, truly inspired, by herself? Emily's eyes softened -as she answered him. - -"You little know how your kindness touches me," she said. - -"Don't speak of my kindness until you have put me to the proof," -he interposed. "Can a friend (such a friend as I am, I mean) be -of any use?" - -"Of the greatest - use if I could feel justified in trying you." - -"I entreat you to try me!" - -"But, Mr. Mirabel, you don't know what I am thinking of." - -"I don't want to know." - -"I may be wrong. My friends all say I _am_ wrong." - -"I don't care what your friends say; I don't care about any -earthly thing but your tranquillity. Does your dog ask whether -you are right or wrong? I am your dog. I think of You, and I -think of nothing else." - -She looked back through the experience of the last few days. Miss -Ladd--Mrs. Ellmother--Doctor Allday: not one of them had felt for -her, not one of them had spoken to her, as this man had felt and -had spoken. She remembered the dreadful sense of solitude and -helplessness which had wrung her heart, in the interval before -Mirabel came in. Her father himself could hardly have been kinder -to her than this friend of a few weeks only. She looked at him -through her tears; she could say nothing that was eloquent, -nothing even that was adequate. "You are very good to me," was -her only acknowledgment of all that he had offered. How poor it -seemed to be! and yet how much it meant! - -He rose--saying considerately that he would leave her to recover -herself, and would wait to hear if he was wanted. - -"No," she said; "I must not let you go. In common gratitude I -ought to decide before you leave me, and I do decide to take you -into my confidence." She hesitated; her color rose a little. "I -know how unselfishly you offer me your help," she resumed; "I -know you speak to me as a brother might speak to a sister--" - -He gently interrupted her. "No," he said; "I can't honestly claim -to do that. And--may I venture to remind you?--you know why." - -She started. Her eyes rested on him with a momentary expression -of reproach. - -"Is it quite fair," she asked, "in my situation, to say that?" - -"Would it have been quite fair," he rejoined, "to allow you to -deceive yourself? Should I deserve to be taken into your -confidence, if I encouraged you to trust me, under false -pretenses? Not a word more of those hopes on which the happiness -of my life depends shall pass my lips, unless you permit it. In -my devotion to your interests, I promise to forget myself. My -motives may be misinterpreted; my position may be misunderstood. -Ignorant people may take me for that other happier man, who is an -object of interest to you--" - -"Stop, Mr. Mirabel! The person to whom you refer has no such -claim on me as you suppose." - -"Dare I say how happy I am to hear it? Will you forgive me?" - -"I will forgive you if you say no more." - -Their eyes met. Completely overcome by the new hope that she had -inspired, Mirabel was unable to answer her. His sensitive nerves -trembled under emotion, like the nerves of a woman; his delicate -complexion faded away slowly into whiteness. Emily was -alarmed--he seemed to be on the point of fainting. She ran to the -window to open it more widely. - -"Pray don't trouble yourself," he said, "I am easily agitated by -any sudden sensation--and I am a little overcome at this moment -by my own happiness." - -"Let me give you a glass of wine." - -"Thank you--I don't need it indeed." - -"You really feel better?" - -"I feel quite well again--and eager to hear how I can serve you." - -"It's a long story, Mr. Mirabel--and a dreadful story." - -"Dreadful?" - -"Yes! Let me tell you first how you can serve me. I am in search -of a man who has done me the cruelest wrong that one human -creature can inflict on another. But the chances are all against -me--I am only a woman; and I don't know how to take even the -first step toward discovery." - -"You will know, when I guide you." - -He reminded her tenderly of what she might expect from him, and -was rewarded by a grateful look. Seeing nothing, suspecting -nothing, they advanced together nearer and nearer to the end. - -"Once or twice," Emily continued, "I spoke to you of my poor -father, when we were at Monksmoor--and I must speak of him again. -You could have no interest in inquiring about a stranger--and you -cannot have heard how he died." - -"Pardon me, I heard from Mr. Wyvil how he died." - -"You heard what I had told Mr. Wyvil," Emily said: "I was wrong." - -"Wrong!" Mirabel exclaimed, in a tone of courteous surprise. "Was -it not a sudden death?" - -"It _was_ a sudden death." - -"Caused by disease of the heart?" - -"Caused by no disease. I have been deceived about my father's -death--and I have only discovered it a few days since." - -At the impending moment of the frightful shock which she was -innocently about to inflict on him, she stopped--doubtful whether -it would be best to relate how the discovery had been made, or to -pass at once to the result. Mirabel supposed that she had paused -to control her agitation. He was so immeasurably far away from -the faintest suspicion of what was coming that he exerted his -ingenuity, in the hope of sparing her. - -"I can anticipate the rest," he said. "Your sad loss has been -caused by some fatal accident. Let us change the subject; tell me -more of that man whom I must help you to find. It will only -distress you to dwell on your father's death." - -"Distress me?" she repeated. "His death maddens me!" - -"Oh, don't say that!" - -"Hear me! hear me! My father died murdered, at Zeeland--and the -man you must help me to find is the wretch who killed him." - -She started to her feet with a cry of terror. Mirabel dropped -from his chair senseless to the floor. - - -CHAPTER LIV. - -THE END OF THE FAINTING FIT. - -Emily recovered her presence of mind. She opened the door, so as -to make a draught of air in the room, and called for water. -Returning to Mirabel, she loosened his cravat. Mrs. Ellmother -came in, just in time to prevent her from committing a common -error in the treatment of fainting persons, by raising Mirabel's -head. The current of air, and the sprinkling of water over his -face, soon produced their customary effect. "He'll come round, -directly," Mrs. Ellmother remarked. "Your aunt was sometimes -taken with these swoons, miss; and I know something about them. -He looks a poor weak creature, in spite of his big beard. Has -anything frightened him?" - -Emily little knew how correctly that chance guess had hit on the -truth! - -"Nothing can possibly have frightened him," she replied; "I am -afraid he is in bad health. He turned suddenly pale while we were -talking; and I thought he was going to be taken ill; he made -light of it, and seemed to recover. Unfortunately, I was right; -it was the threatening of a fainting fit--he dropped on the floor -a minute afterward." - -A sigh fluttered over Mirabel's lips. His eyes opened, looked at -Mrs. Ellmother in vacant terror, and closed again. Emily -whispered to her to leave the room. The old woman smiled -satirically as she opened the door--then looked back, with a -sudden change of humor. To see the kind young mistress bending -over the feeble little clergyman set her--by some strange -association of ideas--thinking of Alban Morris. "Ah," she -muttered to herself, on her way out, "I call _him_ a Man!" - -There was wine in the sideboard--the wine which Emily had once -already offered in vain. Mirabel drank it eagerly, this time. He -looked round the room, as if he wished to be sure that they were -alone. "Have I fallen to a low place in your estimation?" he -asked, smiling faintly. "I am afraid you will think poorly enough -of your new ally, after this?" - -"I only think you should take more care of your health," Emily -replied, with sincere interest in his recovery. "Let me leave you -to rest on the sofa." - -He refused to remain at the cottage--he asked, with a sudden -change to fretfulness, if she would let her servant get him a -cab. She ventured to doubt whether he was quite strong enough yet -to go away by himself. He reiterated, piteously reiterated, his -request. A passing cab was stopped directly. Emily accompanied -him to the gate. "I know what to do," he said, in a hurried -absent way. "Rest and a little tonic medicine will soon set me -right." The clammy coldness of his skin made Emily shudder, as -they shook hands. "You won't think the worse of me for this?" he -asked. - -"How can you imagine such a thing!" she answered warmly. - -"Will you see me, if I come to-morrow?" - -"I shall be anxious to see you." - -So they parted. Emily returned to the house, pitying him with all -her heart. - - -BOOK THE SIXTH--HERE AND THERE. - -CHAPTER LV. - -MIRABEL SEES HIS WAY. - -Reaching the hotel at which he was accustomed to stay when he was -in London, Mirabel locked the door of his room. He looked at the -houses on the opposite side of the street. His mind was in such a -state of morbid distrust that he lowered the blind over the -window. In solitude and obscurity, the miserable wretch sat down -in a corner, and covered his face with his hands, and tried to -realize what had happened to him. - -Nothing had been said at the fatal interview with Emily, which -could have given him the slightest warning of what was to come. -Her father's name--absolutely unknown to him when he fled from -the inn--had only been communicated to the public by the -newspaper reports of the adjourned inquest. At the time when -those reports appeared, he was in hiding, under circumstances -which prevented him from seeing a newspaper. While the murder was -still a subject of conversation, he was in France--far out of the -track of English travelers--and he remained on the continent -until the summer of eighteen hundred and eighty-one. No exercise -of discretion, on his part, could have extricated him from the -terrible position in which he was now placed. He stood pledged to -Emily to discover the man suspected of the murder of her father; -and that man was--himself! - -What refuge was left open to him? - -If he took to flight, his sudden disappearance would be a -suspicious circumstance in itself, and would therefore provoke -inquiries which might lead to serious results. Supposing that he -overlooked the risk thus presented, would he be capable of -enduring a separation from Emily, which might be a separation for -life? Even in the first horror of discovering his situation, her -influence remained unshaken--the animating spirit of the one -manly capacity for resistance which raised him above the reach of -his own fears. The only prospect before him which he felt himself -to be incapable of contemplating, was the prospect of leaving -Emily. - -Having arrived at this conclusion, his fears urged him to think -of providing for his own safety. - -The first precaution to adopt was to separate Emily from friends -whose advice might be hostile to his interests--perhaps even -subversive of his security. To effect this design, he had need of -an ally whom he could trust. That ally was at his disposal, far -away in the north. - -At the time when Francine's jealousy began to interfere with all -freedom of intercourse between Emily and himself at Monksmoor, he -had contemplated making arrangements which might enable them to -meet at the house of his invalid sister, Mrs. Delvin. He had -spoken of her, and of the bodily affliction which confined her to -her room, in terms which had already interested Emily. In the -present emergency, he decided on returning to the subject, and on -hastening the meeting between the two women which he had first -suggested at Mr. Wyvil's country seat. - -No time was to be lost in carrying out this intention. He wrote -to Mrs. Delvin by that day's post; confiding to her, in the first -place, the critical position in which he now found himself. This -done, he proceeded as follows: - -"To your sound judgment, dearest Agatha, it may appear that I am -making myself needlessly uneasy about the future. Two persons -only know that I am the man who escaped from the inn at Zeeland. -You are one of them, and Miss Jethro is the other. On you I can -absolutely rely; and, after my experience of her, I ought to feel -sure of Miss Jethro. I admit this; but I cannot get over my -distrust of Emily's friends. I fear the cunning old doctor; I -doubt Mr. Wyvil; I hate Alban Morris. - -"Do me a favor, my dear. Invite Emily to be your guest, and so -separate her from these friends. The old servant who attends on -her will be included in the invitation, of course. Mrs. Ellmother -is, as I believe, devoted to the interests of Mr. Alban Morris: -she will be well out of the way of doing mischief, while we have -her safe in your northern solitude. - -"There is no fear that Emily will refuse your invitation. - -"In the first place, she is already interested in you. In the -second place, I shall consider the small proprieties of social -life; and, instead of traveling with her to your house, I shall -follow by a later train. In the third place, I am now the chosen -adviser in whom she trusts; and what I tell her to do, she will -do. It pains me, really and truly pains me, to be compelled to -deceive her--but the other alternative is to reveal myself as the -wretch of whom she is in search. Was there ever such a situation? -And, oh, Agatha, I am so fond of her! If I fail to persuade her -to be my wife, I don't care what becomes of me. I used to think -disgrace, and death on the scaffold, the most frightful prospect -that a man can contemplate. In my present frame of mind, a life -without Emily may just as well end in that way as in any other. -When we are together in your old sea-beaten tower, do your best, -my dear, to incline the heart of this sweet girl toward me. If -she remains in London, how do I know that Mr. Morris may not -recover the place he has lost in her good opinion? The bare idea -of it turns me cold. - -"There is one more point on which I must touch, before I can -finish my letter. - -"When you last wrote, you told me that Sir Jervis Redwood was not -expected to live much longer, and that the establishment would be -broken up after his death. Can you find out for me what will -become, under the circumstances, of Mr. and Mrs. Rook? So far as -I am concerned, I don't doubt that the alteration in my personal -appearance, which has protected me for years past, may be trusted -to preserve me from recognition by these two people. But it is of -the utmost importance, remembering the project to which Emily has -devoted herself, that she should not meet with Mrs. Rook. They -have been already in correspondence; and Mrs. Rook has expressed -an intention (if the opportunity offers itself) of calling at the -cottage. Another reason, and a pressing reason, for removing -Emily from London! We can easily keep the Rooks out of _your_ -house; but I own I should feel more at my ease, if I heard that -they had left Northumberland." - -With that confession, Mrs. Delvin's brother closed his letter. - - -CHAPTER LVI. - -ALBAN SEES HIS WAY. - -During the first days of Mirabel's sojourn at his hotel in -London, events were in progress at Netherwoods, affecting the -interests of the man who was the especial object of his distrust. -Not long after Miss Ladd had returned to her school, she heard of -an artist who was capable of filling the place to be vacated by -Alban Morris. It was then the twenty-third of the month. In four -days more the new master would be ready to enter on his duties; -and Alban would be at liberty. - -On the twenty-fourth, Alban received a telegram which startled -him. The person sending the message was Mrs. Ellmother; and the -words were: "Meet me at your railway station to-day, at two -o'clock." - -He found the old woman in the waiting-room; and he met with a -rough reception. - -"Minutes are precious, Mr. Morris," she said; "you are two -minutes late. The next train to London stops here in half an -hour--and I must go back by it." - -"Good heavens, what brings you here? Is Emily--?" - -"Emily is well enough in health--if that's what you mean? As to -why I come here, the reason is that it's a deal easier for me -(worse luck!) to take this journey than to write a letter. One -good turn deserves another. I don't forget how kind you were to -me, away there at the school--and I can't, and won't, see what's -going on at the cottage, behind your back, without letting you -know of it. Oh, you needn't be alarmed about _her!_ I've made an -excuse to get away for a few hours--but I haven't left her by -herself. Miss Wyvil has come to London again; and Mr. Mirabel -spends the best part of his time with her. Excuse me for a -moment, will you? I'm so thirsty after the journey, I can hardly -speak." - -She presented herself at the counter in the waiting-room. "I'll -trouble you, young woman, for a glass of ale." She returned to -Alban in a better humor. "It's not bad stuff, that! When I have -said - my say, I'll have a drop more--just to wash the taste of Mr. -Mirabel out of my mouth. Wait a bit; I have something to ask you. -How much longer are you obliged to stop here, teaching the girls -to draw?" - -"I leave Netherwoods in three days more," Alban replied. - -"That's all right! You may be in time to bring Miss Emily to her -senses, yet." - -"What do you mean?" - -"I mean--if you don't stop it--she will marry the parson." - -"I can't believe it, Mrs. Ellmother! I won't believe it!" - -"Ah, it's a comfort to him, poor fellow, to say that! Look here, -Mr. Morris; this is how it stands. You're in disgrace with Miss -Emily--and he profits by it. I was fool enough to take a liking -to Mr. Mirabel when I first opened the door to him; I know better -now. He got on the blind side of me; and now he has got on the -blind side of _her_. Shall I tell you how? By doing what you -would have done if you had had the chance. He's helping her--or -pretending to help her, I don't know which--to find the man who -murdered poor Mr. Brown. After four years! And when all the -police in England (with a reward to encourage them) did their -best, and it came to nothing!" - -"Never mind that!" Alban said impatiently. "I want to know how -Mr. Mirabel is helping her?" - -"That's more than I can tell you. You don't suppose they take me -into their confidence? All I can do is to pick up a word, here -and there, when fine weather tempts them out into the garden. She -tells him to suspect Mrs. Rook, and to make inquiries after Miss -Jethro. And he has his plans; and he writes them down, which is -dead against his doing anything useful, in my opinion. I don't -hold with your scribblers. At the same time I wouldn't count too -positively, in your place, on his being likely to fail. That -little Mirabel--if it wasn't for his beard, I should believe he -was a woman, and a sickly woman too; he fainted in our house the -other day--that little Mirabel is in earnest. Rather than leave -Miss Emily from Saturday to Monday, he has got a parson out of -employment to do his Sunday work for him. And, what's more, he -has persuaded her (for some reasons of his own) to leave London -next week." - -"Is she going back to Monksmoor?" - -"Not she! Mr. Mirabel has got a sister, a widow lady; she's a -cripple, or something of the sort. Her name is Mrs. Delvin. She -lives far away in the north country, by the sea; and Miss Emily -is going to stay with her." - -"Are you sure of that?" - -"Sure? I've seen the letter." - -"Do you mean the letter of invitation?" - -"Yes--I do. Miss Emily herself showed it to me. I'm to go with -her--'in attendance on my mistress,' as the lady puts it. This I -will say for Mrs. Delvin: her handwriting is a credit to the -school that taught her; and the poor bedridden creature words her -invitation so nicely, that I myself couldn't have resisted -it--and I'm a hard one, as you know. You don't seem to heed me, -Mr. Morris." - -"I beg your pardon, I was thinking." - -"Thinking of what--if I may make so bold?" - -"Of going back to London with you, instead of waiting till the -new master comes to take my place." - -"Don't do that, sir! You would do harm instead of good, if you -showed yourself at the cottage now. Besides, it would not be fair -to Miss Ladd, to leave her before the other man takes your girls -off your hands. Trust me to look after your interests; and don't -go near Miss Emily--don't even write to her--unless you have got -something to say about the murder, which she will be eager to -hear. Make some discovery in that direction, Mr. Morris, while -the parson is only trying to do it or pretending to do it--and -I'll answer for the result. Look at the clock! In ten minutes -more the train will be here. My memory isn't as good as it was; -but I do think I have told you all I had to tell." - -"You are the best of good friends!" Alban said warmly. - -"Never mind about that, sir. If you want to do a friendly thing -in return, tell me if you know what has become of Miss de Sor." - -"She has returned to Netherwoods." - -"Aha! Miss Ladd is as good as her word. Would you mind writing to -tell me of it, if Miss de Sor leaves the school again? Good Lord! -there she is on the platform with bag and baggage. Don't let her -see me, Mr. Morris! If she comes in here, I shall set the marks -of my ten finger-nails on that false face of hers, as sure as I -am a Christian woman." - -Alban placed himself at the door, so as to hide Mrs. Ellmother. -There indeed was Francine, accompanied by one of the teachers at -the school. She took a seat on the bench outside the -booking-office, in a state of sullen indifference--absorbed in -herself--noticing nothing. Urged by ungovernable curiosity, Mrs. -Ellmother stole on tiptoe to Alban's side to look at her. To a -person acquainted with the circumstances there could be no -possible doubt of what had happened. Francine had failed to -excuse herself, and had been dismissed from Miss Ladd's house. - -"I would have traveled to the world's end," Mrs. Ellmother said, -"to see _that!_" - -She returned to her place in the waiting-room, perfectly -satisfied. - -The teacher noticed Alban, on leaving the booking-office after -taking the tickets. "I shall be glad," she said, looking toward -Francine, "when I have resigned the charge of that young lady to -the person who is to receive her in London." - -"Is she to be sent back to her parents?" Alban asked. - -"We don't know yet. Miss Ladd will write to St. Domingo by the -next mail. In the meantime, her father's agent in London--the -same person who pays her allowance--takes care of her until he -hears from the West Indies." - -"Does she consent to this?" - -"She doesn't seem to care what becomes of her. Miss Ladd has -given her every opportunity of explaining and excusing herself, -and has produced no impression. You can see the state she is in. -Our good mistress--always hopeful even in the worst cases, as you -know--thinks she is feeling ashamed of herself, and is too proud -and self-willed to own it. My own idea is, that some secret -disappointment is weighing on her mind. Perhaps I am wrong." - -No. Miss Ladd was wrong; and the teacher was right. - -The passion of revenge, being essentially selfish in its nature, -is of all passions the narrowest in its range of view. In -gratifying her jealous hatred of Emily, Francine had correctly -foreseen consequences, as they might affect the other object of -her enmity--Alban Morris. But she had failed to perceive the -imminent danger of another result, which in a calmer frame of -mind might not have escaped discovery. In triumphing over Emily -and Alban, she had been the indirect means of inflicting on -herself the bitterest of all disappointments--she had brought -Emily and Mirabel together. The first forewarning of this -catastrophe had reached her, on hearing that Mirabel would not -return to Monksmoor. Her worst fears had been thereafter -confirmed by a letter from Cecilia, which had followed her to -Netherwoods. From that moment, she, who had made others wretched, -paid the penalty in suffering as keen as any that she had -inflicted. Completely prostrated; powerless, through ignorance of -his address in London, to make a last appeal to Mirabel; she was -literally, as had just been said, careless what became of her. -When the train approached, she sprang to her feet--advanced to -the edge of the platform--and suddenly drew back, shuddering. The -teacher looked in terror at Alban. Had the desperate girl -meditated throwing herself under the wheels of the engine? The -thought had been in both their minds; but neither of them -acknowledged it. Francine stepped quietly into the carriage, when -the train drew up, and laid her head back in a corner, and closed -her eyes. Mrs. Ellmother took her place in another compartment, -and beckoned to Alban to speak to her at the window. - -"Where can I see you, when you go to London?" she asked. - -"At Doctor Allday's house." - -"On what day?" - -"On Tuesday next." - - -CHAPTER LVII. - -APPROACHING THE END. - -Alban reached London early enough in the afternoon to find the -doctor at his luncheon. "Too late to see Mrs. Ellmother," he -announced. "Sit down and have something to eat." - -"Has she left any message for me?" - -"A message, my good friend, that you won't like to hear. She is -off w ith her mistress, this morning, on a visit to Mr. Mirabel's -sister." - -"Does he go with them?" - -"No; he follows by a later train." - -"Has Mrs. Ellmother mentioned the address?" - -"There it is, in her own handwriting." - -Alban read the address:--"Mrs. Delvin, The Clink, Belford, -Northumberland." - -"Turn to the back of that bit of paper," the doctor said. "Mrs. -Ellmother has written something on it." - -She had written these words: "No discoveries made by Mr. Mirabel, -up to this time. Sir Jervis Redwood is dead. The Rooks are -believed to be in Scotland; and Miss Emily, if need be, is to -help the parson to find them. No news of Miss Jethro." - -"Now you have got your information," Doctor Allday resumed, "let -me have a look at you. You're not in a rage: that's a good sign -to begin with." - -"I am not the less determined," Alban answered. - -"To bring Emily to her senses?" the doctor asked. - -"To do what Mirabel has _not_ done--and then to let her choose -between us." - -"Ay? ay? Your good opinion of her hasn't altered, though she has -treated you so badly?" - -"My good opinion makes allowance for the state of my poor -darling's mind, after the shock that has fallen on her," Alban -answered quietly. "She is not _my_ Emily now. She will be _my_ -Emily yet. I told her I was convinced of it, in the old days at -school--and my conviction is as strong as ever. Have you seen -her, since I have been away at Netherwoods?" - -"Yes; and she is as angry with me as she is with you." - -"For the same reason?" - -"No, no. I heard enough to warn me to hold my tongue. I refused -to help her--that's all. You are a man, and you may run risks -which no young girl ought to encounter. Do you remember when I -asked you to drop all further inquiries into the murder, for -Emily's sake? The circumstances have altered since that time. Can -I be of any use?" - -"Of the greatest use, if you can give me Miss Jethro's address." - -"Oh! You mean to begin in that way, do you?" - -"Yes. You know that Miss Jethro visited me at Netherwoods?" - -"Go on." - -"She showed me your answer to a letter which she had written to -you. Have you got that letter?" - -Doctor Allday produced it. The address was at a post-office, in a -town on the south coast. Looking up when he had copied it, Alban -saw the doctor's eyes fixed on him with an oddly-mingled -expression: partly of sympathy, partly of hesitation. - -"Have you anything to suggest?" he asked. - -"You will get nothing out of Miss Jethro," the doctor answered, -"unless--" there he stopped. - -"Unless, what?" - -"Unless you can frighten her." - -"How am I to do that?" - -After a little reflection, Doctor Allday returned, without any -apparent reason, to the subject of his last visit to Emily. - -"There was one thing she said, in the course of our talk," he -continued, "which struck me as being sensible: possibly (for we -are all more or less conceited), because I agreed with her -myself. She suspects Miss Jethro of knowing more about that -damnable murder than Miss Jethro is willing to acknowledge. If -you want to produce the right effect on her--" he looked hard at -Alban and checked himself once more. - -"Well? what am I to do?" - -"Tell her you have an idea of who the murderer is." - -"But I have no idea." - -"But _I_ have." - -"Good God! what do you mean?" - -"Don't mistake me! An impression has been produced on my -mind--that's all. Call it a freak or fancy; worth trying perhaps -as a bold experiment, and worth nothing more. Come a little -nearer. My housekeeper is an excellent woman, but I have once or -twice caught her rather too near to that door. I think I'll -whisper it." - -He did whisper it. In breathless wonder, Alban heard of the doubt -which had crossed Doctor Allday's mind, on the evening when -Mirabel had called at his house. - -"You look as if you didn't believe it," the doctor remarked. - -"I'm thinking of Emily. For her sake I hope and trust you are -wrong. Ought I to go to her at once? I don't know what to do!" - -"Find out first, my good fellow, whether I am right or wrong. You -can do it, if you will run the risk with Miss Jethro." - -Alban recovered himself. His old friend's advice was clearly the -right advice to follow. He examined his railway guide, and then -looked at his watch. "If I can find Miss Jethro," he answered, -"I'll risk it before the day is out." - -Tile doctor accompanied him to the door. "You will write to me, -won't you?" - -"Without fail. Thank you--and good-by." - - -BOOK THE SEVENTH--THE CLINK. - -CHAPTER LVIII. - -A COUNCIL OF TWO. - -Early in the last century one of the picturesque race of robbers -and murderers, practicing the vices of humanity on the -borderlands watered by the river Tweed, built a tower of stone on -the coast of Northumberland. He lived joyously in the -perpetration of atrocities; and he died penitent, under the -direction of his priest. Since that event, he has figured in -poems and pictures; and has been greatly admired by modern ladies -and gentlemen, whom he would have outraged and robbed if he had -been lucky enough to meet with them in the good old times. - -His son succeeded him, and failed to profit by the paternal -example: that is to say, he made the fatal mistake of fighting -for other people instead of fighting for himself. - -In the rebellion of Forty-Five, this northern squire sided to -serious purpose with Prince Charles and the Highlanders. He lost -his head; and his children lost their inheritance. In the lapse -of years, the confiscated property fell into the hands of -strangers; the last of whom (having a taste for the turf) -discovered, in course of time, that he was in want of money. A -retired merchant, named Delvin (originally of French extraction), -took a liking to the wild situation, and purchased the tower. His -wife--already in failing health--had been ordered by the doctors -to live a quiet life by the sea. Her husband's death left her a -rich and lonely widow; by day and night alike, a prisoner in her -room; wasted by disease, and having but two interests which -reconciled her to life--writing poetry in the intervals of pain, -and paying the debts of a reverend brother who succeeded in the -pulpit, and prospered nowhere else. - -In the later days of its life, the tower had been greatly -improved as a place of residence. The contrast was remarkable -between the dreary gray outer walls, and the luxuriously -furnished rooms inside, rising by two at a time to the lofty -eighth story of the building. Among the scattered populace of the -country round, the tower was still known by the odd name given to -it in the bygone time--"The Clink." It had been so called (as was -supposed) in allusion to the noise made by loose stones, washed -backward and forward at certain times of the tide, in hollows of -the rock on which the building stood. - -On the evening of her arrival at Mrs. Delvin's retreat, Emily -retired at an early hour, fatigued by her long journey. Mirabel -had an opportunity of speaking with his sister privately in her -own room. - -"Send me away, Agatha, if I disturb you," he said, "and let me -know when I can see you in the morning." - -"My dear Miles, have you forgotten that I am never able to sleep -in calm weather? My lullaby, for years past, has been the moaning -of the great North Sea, under my window. Listen! There is not a -sound outside on this peaceful night. It is the right time of the -tide, just now--and yet, 'the clink' is not to be heard. Is the -moon up?" - -Mirabel opened the curtains. "The whole sky is one great abyss of -black," he answered. "If I was superstitious, I should think that -horrid darkness a bad omen for the future. Are you suffering, -Agatha?" - -"Not just now. I suppose I look sadly changed for the worse since -you saw me last?" - -But for the feverish brightness of her eyes, she would have -looked like a corpse. Her wrinkled forehead, her hollow cheeks, -her white lips told their terrible tale of the suffering of -years. The ghastly appearance of her face was heightened by the -furnishing of the room. This doomed woman, dying slowly day by -day, delighted in bright colors and sumptuous materials. The -paper on the walls, the curtains, the carpet presented the hues -of the rainbow. She lay on a couch covered with purple silk, -under draperies of green velvet to keep her warm. Rich lace hid h -er scanty hair, turning prematurely gray; brilliant rings -glittered on her bony fingers. The room was in a blaze of light -from lamps and candles. Even the wine at her side that kept her -alive had been decanted into a bottle of lustrous Venetian glass. -"My grave is open," she used to say; "and I want all these -beautiful things to keep me from looking at it. I should die at -once, if I was left in the dark." - -Her brother sat by the couch, thinking "Shall I tell you what is -in your mind?" she asked. - -Mirabel humored the caprice of the moment. "Tell me!" he said. - -"You want to know what I think of Emily," she answered. "Your -letter told me you were in love; but I didn't believe your -letter. I have always doubted whether you were capable of feeling -true love--until I saw Emily. The moment she entered the room, I -knew that I had never properly appreciated my brother. You _are_ -in love with her, Miles; and you are a better man than I thought -you. Does that express my opinion?" - -Mirabel took her wasted hand, and kissed it gratefully. - -"What a position I am in!" he said. "To love her as I love her; -and, if she knew the truth, to be the object of her horror--to be -the man whom she would hunt to the scaffold, as an act of duty to -the memory of her father!" - -"You have left out the worst part of it," Mrs. Delvin reminded -him. "You have bound yourself to help her to find the man. Your -one hope of persuading her to become your wife rests on your -success in finding him. And you are the man. There is your -situation! You can't submit to it. How can you escape from it?" - -"You are trying to frighten me, Agatha." - -"I am trying to encourage you to face your position boldly." - -"I am doing my best," Mirabel said, with sullen resignation. -"Fortune has favored me so far. I have, really and truly, been -unable to satisfy Emily by discovering Miss Jethro. She has left -the place at which I saw her last--there is no trace to be found -of her--and Emily knows it." - -"Don't forget," Mrs. Delvin replied, "that there is a trace to be -found of Mrs. Rook, and that Emily expects you to follow it." - -Mirabel shuddered. "I am surrounded by dangers, whichever way I -look," he said. "Do what I may, it turns out to be wrong. I was -wrong, perhaps, when I brought Emily here." - -"No!" - -"I could easily make an excuse," Mirabel persisted "and take her -back to London." - -"And for all you know to the contrary," his wiser sister replied, -"Mrs. Rook may go to London; and you may take Emily back in time -to receive her at the cottage. In every way you are safer in my -old tower. And--don't forget--you have got my money to help you, -if you want it. In my belief, Miles, you _will_ want it." - -"You are the dearest and best of sisters! What do you recommend -me to do?" - -"What you would have been obliged to do," Mrs. Delvin answered, -"if you had remained in London. You must go to Redwood Hall -tomorrow, as Emily has arranged it. If Mrs. Rook is not there, -you must ask for her address in Scotland. If nobody knows the -address, you must still bestir yourself in trying to find it. -And, when you do fall in with Mrs. Rook--" - -"Well?" - -"Take care, wherever it may be, that you see her privately." - -Mirabel was alarmed. "Don't keep me in suspense," he burst out. -"Tell me what you propose." - -"Never mind what I propose, to-night. Before I can tell you what -I have in my mind, I must know whether Mrs. Rook is in England or -Scotland. Bring me that information to-morrow, and I shall have -something to say to you. Hark! The wind is rising, the rain is -falling. There is a chance of sleep for me--I shall soon hear the -sea. Good-night." - -"Good-night, dearest--and thank you again, and again!" - - -CHAPTER LIX. - -THE ACCIDENT AT BELFORD. - -Early in the morning Mirabel set forth for Redwood Hall, in one -of the vehicles which Mrs. Delvin still kept at "The Clink" for -the convenience of visitors. He returned soon after noon; having -obtained information of the whereabout of Mrs. Rook and her -husband. When they had last been heard of, they were at Lasswade, -near Edinburgh. Whether they had, or had not, obtained the -situation of which they were in search, neither Miss Redwood nor -any one else at the Hall could tell. - -In half an hour more, another horse was harnessed, and Mirabel -was on his way to the railway station at Belford, to follow Mrs. -Rook at Emily's urgent request. Before his departure, he had an -interview with his sister. - -Mrs. Delvin was rich enough to believe implicitly in the power of -money. Her method of extricating her brother from the serious -difficulties that beset him, was to make it worth the while of -Mr. and Mrs. Rook to leave England. Their passage to America -would be secretly paid; and they would take with them a letter of -credit addressed to a banker in New York. If Mirabel failed to -discover them, after they had sailed, Emily could not blame his -want of devotion to her interests. He understood this; but he -remained desponding and irresolute, even with the money in his -hands. The one person who could rouse his courage and animate his -hope, was also the one person who must know nothing of what had -passed between his sister and himself. He had no choice but to -leave Emily, without being cheered by her bright looks, -invigorated by her inspiriting words. Mirabel went away on his -doubtful errand with a heavy heart. - -"The Clink" was so far from the nearest post town, that the few -letters, usually addressed to the tower, were delivered by -private arrangement with a messenger. The man's punctuality -depended on the convenience of his superiors employed at the -office. Sometimes he arrived early, and sometimes he arrived -late. On this particular morning he presented himself, at half -past one o'clock, with a letter for Emily; and when Mrs. -Ellmother smartly reproved him for the delay, he coolly -attributed it to the hospitality of friends whom he had met on -the road. - -The letter, directed to Emily at the cottage, had been forwarded -from London by the person left in charge. It addressed her as -"Honored Miss." She turned at once to the end--and discovered the -signature of Mrs. Rook! - -"And Mr. Mirabel has gone, "Emily exclaimed, "just when his -presence is of the greatest importance to us!" - -Shrewd Mrs. Ellmother suggested that it might be as well to read -the letter first--and then to form an opinion. - -Emily read it. - - - "Lasswade, near -Edinburgh, Sept. 26th. - -"HONORED MISS--I take up my pen to bespeak your kind sympathy for -my husband and myself; two old people thrown on the world again -by the death of our excellent master. We are under a month's -notice to leave Redwood Hall. - -"Hearing of a situation at this place (also that our expenses -would be paid if we applied personally), we got leave of absence, -and made our application. The lady and her son are either the -stingiest people that ever lived--or they have taken a dislike to -me and my husband, and they make money a means of getting rid of -us easily. Suffice it to say that we have refused to accept -starvation wages, and that we are still out of place. It is just -possible that you may have heard of something to suit us. So I -write at once, knowing that good chances are often lost through -needless delay. - -"We stop at Belford on our way back, to see some friends of my -husband, and we hope to get to Redwood Hall in good time on the -28th. Would you please address me to care of Miss Redwood, in -case you know of any good situation for which we could apply. -Perhaps we may be driven to try our luck in London. In this case, -will you permit me to have the honor of presenting my respects, -as I ventured to propose when I wrote to you a little time since. - -"I beg to remain, Honored Miss, - - "Your humble -servant, - - "R. -ROOK." - - -Emily handed the letter to Mrs. Ellmother. "Read it," she said, -"and tell me what you think." - -"I think you had better be careful." - -"Careful of Mrs. Rook?" - -"Yes--and careful of Mrs. Delvin too." - -Emily was astonished. "Are you really speaking seriously?" she -said. "Mrs. Delvin is a most interesting person; so patient under -her sufferings; so kind, so clever; so interested in all that -interests _me_. I shall take the letter to her at once, and ask -her advice." - -"Have your own way, miss. I can't tell you why--but I don't like -her!" - -Mrs. Delvin's devotion to the interests of her guest took even -Emily by surprise. After reading Mrs. Rook's letter, she rang the -bell on her table in a frenzy of impatience. "My brother must be -instantly recalled," she said. "Telegraph to him in your own -name, telling him what has happened. He will find the message -waiting for him, at the end of his journey." - -The groom, summoned by the bell, was ordered to saddle the third -and last horse left in the stables; to take the telegram to -Belford, and to wait there until the answer arrived. - -"How far is it to Redwood Hall?" Emily asked, when the man had -received his orders. - -"Ten miles," Mrs. Delvin answered. - -"How can I get there to-day?" - -"My dear, you can't get there." - -"Pardon me, Mrs. Delvin, I must get there." - -"Pardon _me_. My brother represents you in this matter. Leave it -to my brother." - -The tone taken by Mirabel's sister was positive, to say the least -of it. Emily thought of what her faithful old servant had said, -and began to doubt her own discretion in so readily showing the -letter. The mistake--if a mistake it was--had however been -committed; and, wrong or right, she was not disposed to occupy -the subordinate position which Mrs. Delvin had assigned to her. - -"If you will look at Mrs. Rook's letter again," Emily replied, -"you will see that I ought to answer it. She supposes I am in -London." - -"Do you propose to tell Mrs. Rook that you are in this house?" -Mrs. Delvin asked. - -"Certainly." - -"You had better consult my brother, before you take any -responsibility on yourself." - -Emily kept her temper. "Allow me to remind you," she said, "that -Mr. Mirabel is not acquainted with Mrs. Rook--and that I am. If I -speak to her personally, I can do much to assist the object of -our inquiries, before he returns. She is not an easy woman to -deal with--" - -"And therefore," Mrs. Delvin interposed, "the sort of person who -requires careful handling by a man like my brother--a man of the -world." - -"The sort of person, as I venture to think," Emily persisted, -"whom I ought to see with as little loss of time as possible." - -Mrs. Delvin waited a while before she replied. In her condition -of health, anxiety was not easy to bear. Mrs. Rook's letter and -Emily's obstinacy had seriously irritated her. But, like all -persons of ability, she was capable, when there was serious -occasion for it, of exerting self-control. She really liked and -admired Emily; and, as the elder woman and the hostess, she set -an example of forbearance and good humor. - -"It is out of my power to send you to Redwood Hall at once," she -resumed. "The only one of my three horses now at your disposal is -the horse which took my brother to the Hall this morning. A -distance, there and back, of twenty miles. You are not in too -great a hurry, I am sure, to allow the horse time to rest?" - -Emily made her excuses with perfect grace and sincerity. "I had -no idea the distance was so great," she confessed. "I will wait, -dear Mrs. Delvin, as long as you like." - -They parted as good friends as ever--with a certain reserve, -nevertheless, on either side. Emily's eager nature was depressed -and irritated by the prospect of delay. Mrs. Delvin, on the other -hand (devoted to her brother's interests), thought hopefully of -obstacles which might present themselves with the lapse of time. -The horse might prove to be incapable of further exertion for -that day. Or the threatening aspect of the weather might end in a -storm. - -But the hours passed--and the sky cleared--and the horse was -reported to be fit for work again. Fortune was against the lady -of the tower; she had no choice but to submit. - -Mrs. Delvin had just sent word to Emily that the carriage would -be ready for her in ten minutes, when the coachman who had driven -Mirabel to Belford returned. He brought news which agreeably -surprised both the ladies. Mirabel had reached the station five -minutes too late; the coachman had left him waiting the arrival -of the next train to the North. He would now receive the -telegraphic message at Belford, and might return immediately by -taking the groom's horse. Mrs. Delvin left it to Emily to decide -whether she would proceed by herself to Redwood Hall, or wait for -Mirabel's return. - -Under the changed circumstances, Emily would have acted -ungraciously if she had persisted in holding to her first -intention. She consented to wait. - -The sea still remained calm. In the stillness of the moorland -solitude on the western side of "The Clink," the rapid steps of a -horse were heard at some little distance on the highroad. - -Emily ran out, followed by careful Mrs. Ellmother, expecting to -meet Mirabel. - -She was disappointed: it was the groom who had returned. As he -pulled up at the house, and dismounted, Emily noticed that the -man looked excited. - -"Is there anything wrong?" she asked. - -"There has been an accident, miss." - -"Not to Mr. Mirabel!'' - -"No, no, miss. An accident to a poor foolish woman, traveling -from Lasswade." - -Emily looked at Mrs. Ellmother. "It can't be Mrs. Rook!" she -said. - -"That's the name, miss! She got out before the train had quite -stopped, and fell on the platform." - -"Was she hurt?" - -"Seriously hurt, as I heard. They carried her into a house hard -by--and sent for the doctor." - -"Was Mr. Mirabel one of the people who helped her?" - -"He was on the other side of the platform, miss; waiting for the -train from London. I got to the station and gave him the -telegram, just as the accident took place. We crossed over to -hear more about it. Mr. Mirabel was telling me that he would -return to 'The Clink' on my horse--when he heard the woman's name -mentioned. Upon that, he changed his mind and went to the house." - -"Was he let in?" - -"The doctor wouldn't hear of it. He was making his examination; -and he said nobody was to be in the room but her husband and the -woman of the house." - -"Is Mr. Mirabel waiting to see her?" - -"Yes, miss. He said he would wait all day, if necessary; and he -gave me this bit of a note to take to the mistress." - -Emily turned to Mrs. Ellmother. "It's impossible to stay here, -not knowing whether Mrs. Rook is going to live or die," she said. -"I shall go to Belford--and you will go with me." - -The groom interfered. "I beg your pardon, miss. It was Mr. -Mirabel's most particular wish that you were not, on any account, -to go to Belford." - -"Why not?" - -"He didn't say." - -Emily eyed the note in the man's hand with well-grounded -distrust. In all probability, Mirabel's object in writing was to -instruct his sister to prevent her guest from going to Belford. -The carriage was waiting at the door. With her usual promptness -of resolution, Emily decided on taking it for granted that she -was free to use as she pleased a carriage which had been already -placed at her disposal. - -"Tell your mistress," she said to the groom, "that I am going to -Belford instead of to Redwood Hall." - -In a minute more, she and Mrs. Ellmother were on their way to -join Mirabel at the station. - - -CHAPTER LX. - -OUTSIDE THE ROOM. - -Emily found Mirabel in the waiting room at Belford. Her sudden -appearance might well have amazed him; but his face expressed a -more serious emotion than surprise--he looked at her as if she -had alarmed him. - -"Didn't you get my message?" he asked. "I told the groom I wished -you to wait for my return. I sent a note to my sister, in case he -made any mistake." - -"The man made no mistake," Emily answered. "I was in too great a -hurry to be able to speak with Mrs. Delvin. Did you really -suppose I could endure the suspense of waiting till you came -back? Do you think I can be of no use--I who know Mrs. Rook?" - -"They won't let you see her." - -"Why not? _You_ seem to be waiting to see her." - -"I am waiting for the return of the rector of Belford. He is at -Berwick; and he has been sent for at Mrs. Rook's urgent request." - -"Is she dying?" - -"She is in fear of death--whether rightly or wrongly, I don't -know. There is some internal injury from the fall. I hope to see -her when the rector returns. As a brother cler gyman, I may with -perfect propriety ask him to use his influence in my favor." - -"I am glad to find you so eager about it." - -"I am always eager in your interests." - -"Don't think me ungrateful," Emily replied gently. "I am no -stranger to Mrs. Rook; and, if I send in my name, I may be able -to see her before the clergyman returns." - -She stopped. Mirabel suddenly moved so as to place himself -between her and the door. "I must really beg of you to give up -that idea," he said; "you don't know what horrid sight you may -see--what dreadful agonies of pain this unhappy woman may be -suffering." - -His manner suggested to Emily that he might be acting under some -motive which he was unwilling to acknowledge. "If you have a -reason for wishing that I should keep away from Mrs. Rook," she -said, "let me hear what it is. Surely we trust each other? I have -done my best to set the example, at any rate." - -Mirabel seemed to be at a loss for a reply. - -While he was hesitating, the station-master passed the door. -Emily asked him to direct her to the house in which Mrs. Rook had -been received. He led the way to the end of the platform, and -pointed to the house. Emily and Mrs. Ellmother immediately left -the station. Mirabel accompanied them, still remonstrating, still -raising obstacles. - -The house door was opened by an old man. He looked reproachfully -at Mirabel. "You have been told already," he said, "that no -strangers are to see my wife?" - -Encouraged by discovering that the man was Mr. Rook, Emily -mentioned her name. "Perhaps you may have heard Mrs. Rook speak -of me," she added. - -"I've heard her speak of you oftentimes." - -"What does the doctor say?" - -"He thinks she may get over it. She doesn't believe him." - -"Will you say that I am anxious to see her, if she feels well -enough to receive me?" - -Mr. Rook looked at Mrs. Ellmother. "Are there two of you wanting -to go upstairs?" he inquired. - -"This is my old friend and servant," Emily answered. "She will -wait for me down here." - -"She can wait in the parlor; the good people of this house are -well known to me." He pointed to the parlor door--and then led -the way to the first floor. Emily followed him. Mirabel, as -obstinate as ever, followed Emily. - -Mr. Rook opened a door at the end of the landing; and, turning -round to speak to Emily, noticed Mirabel standing behind her. -Without making any remarks, the old man pointed significantly -down the stairs. His resolution was evidently immovable. Mirabel -appealed to Emily to help him. - -"She will see me, if _you_ ask her," he said, "Let me wait here?" - -The sound of his voice was instantly followed by a cry from the -bed-chamber--a cry of terror. - -Mr. Rook hurried into the room, and closed the door. In less than -a minute, he opened it again, with doubt and horror plainly -visible in his face. He stepped up to Mirabel--eyed him with the -closest scrutiny--and drew back again with a look of relief. - -"She's wrong," he said; "you are not the man." - -This strange proceeding startled Emily. - -"What man do you mean?" she asked. - -Mr. Rook took no notice of the question. Still looking at -Mirabel, he pointed down the stairs once more. With vacant -eyes--moving mechanically, like a sleep-walker in his -dream--Mirabel silently obeyed. Mr. Rook turned to Emily. - -"Are you easily frightened?" he said - -"I don't understand you," Emily replied. "Who is going to -frighten me? Why did you speak to Mr. Mirabel in that strange -way?" - -Mr. Rook looked toward the bedroom door. "Maybe you'll hear why, -inside there. If I could have my way, you shouldn't see her--but -she's not to be reasoned with. A caution, miss. Don't be too -ready to believe what my wife may say to you. She's had a -fright." He opened the door. "In my belief," he whispered, "she's -off her head." - -Emily crossed the threshold. Mr. Rook softly closed the door -behind her. - - -CHAPTER LXI. - -INSIDE THE ROOM. - -A decent elderly woman was seated at the bedside. She rose, and -spoke to Emily with a mingling of sorrow and confusion strikingly -expressed on her face. "It isn't my fault," she said, "that Mrs. -Rook receives you in this manner; I am obliged to humor her." - -She drew aside, and showed Mrs. Rook with her head supported by -many pillows, and her face strangely hidden from view under a -veil. Emily started back in horror. "Is her face injured?" she -asked. - -Mrs. Rook answered the question herself. Her voice was low and -weak; but she still spoke with the same nervous hurry of -articulation which had been remarked by Alban Morris, on the day -when she asked him to direct her to Netherwoods - -"Not exactly injured," she explained; "but one's appearance is a -matter of some anxiety even on one's death-bed. I am disfigured -by a thoughtless use of water, to bring me to when I had my -fall--and I can't get at my toilet-things to put myself right -again. I don't wish to shock you. Please excuse the veil." - -Emily remembered the rouge on her cheeks, and the dye on her -hair, when they had first seen each other at the school. -Vanity--of all human frailties the longest-lived--still held its -firmly-rooted place in this woman's nature; superior to torment -of conscience, unassailable by terror of death! - -The good woman of the house waited a moment before she left the -room. "What shall I say," she asked, "if the clergyman comes?" - -Mrs. Rook lifted her hand solemnly "Say," she answered, "that a -dying sinner is making atonement for sin. Say this young lady is -present, by the decree of an all-wise Providence. No mortal -creature must disturb us." Her hand dropped back heavily on the -bed. "Are we alone?" she asked. - -"We are alone," Emily answered. "What made you scream just before -I came in?" - -"No! I can't allow you to remind me of that," Mrs. Rook -protested. "I must compose myself. Be quiet. Let me think." - -Recovering her composure, she also recovered that sense of -enjoyment in talking of herself, which was one of the marked -peculiarities in her character. - -"You will excuse me if I exhibit religion," she resumed. "My dear -parents were exemplary people; I was most carefully brought up. -Are you pious? Let us hope so." - -Emily was once more reminded of the past. - -The bygone time returned to her memory--the time when she had -accepted Sir Jervis Redwood's offer of employment, and when Mrs. -Rook had arrived at the school to be her traveling companion to -the North. The wretched creature had entirely forgotten her own -loose talk, after she had drunk Miss Ladd's good wine to the last -drop in the bottle. As she was boasting now of her piety, so she -had boasted then of her lost faith and hope, and had mockingly -declared her free-thinking opinions to be the result of her -ill-assorted marriage. Forgotten--all forgotten, in this later -time of pain and fear. Prostrate under the dread of death, her -innermost nature--stripped of the concealments of her later -life--was revealed to view. The early religious training, at -which she had scoffed in the insolence of health and strength, -revealed its latent influence--intermitted, but a living -influence always from first to last. Mrs. Rook was tenderly -mindful of her exemplary parents, and proud of exhibiting -religion, on the bed from which she was never to rise again. - -"Did I tell you that I am a miserable sinner?" she asked, after -an interval of silence. - -Emily could endure it no longer. "Say that to the clergyman," she -answered--"not to me." - -"Oh, but I must say it," Mrs. Rook insisted. "I _am_ a miserable -sinner. Let me give you an instance of it," she continued, with a -shameless relish of the memory of her own frailties. "I have been -a drinker, in my time. Anything was welcome, when the fit was on -me, as long as it got into my head. Like other persons in liquor, -I sometimes talked of things that had better have been kept -secret. We bore that in mind--my old man and I---when we were -engaged by Sir Jervis. Miss Redwood wanted to put us in the next -bedroom to hers--a risk not to be run. I might have talked of the -murder at the inn; and she might have heard me. Please to remark -a curious thing. Whatever else I might let out, when I was in my -cups, not a word about the pocketbook ever dropped from me. You -will ask how I know it. My dear, I should have heard of it from -my husband, if I had let _that_ out--and he is as much in the -dark as you are. Wonderful are the workings of the human mind, as -the poet says; and drink drowns care, as the proverb says. But -can drink deliver a person from fear by day, and fear by night? I -believe, if I had dropped a word about the pocketbook, it would -have sobered me in an instant. Have you any remark to make on -this curious circumstance?" - -Thus far, Emily had allowed the woman to ramble on, in the hope -of getting information which direct inquiry might fail to -produce. It was impossible, however, to pass over the allusion to -the pocketbook. After giving her time to recover from the -exhaustion which her heavy breathing sufficiently revealed, Emily -put the question: - -"Who did the pocketbook belong to?" - -"Wait a little," said Mrs. Rook. "Everything in its right place, -is my motto. I mustn't begin with the pocketbook. Why did I begin -with it? Do you think this veil on my face confuses me? Suppose I -take it off. But you must promise first--solemnly promise you -won't look at my face. How can I tell you about the murder (the -murder is part of my confession, you know), with this lace -tickling my skin? Go away--and stand there with your back to me. -Thank you. Now I'll take it off. Ha! the air feels refreshing; I -know what I am about. Good heavens, I have forgotten something! I -have forgotten _him_. And after such a fright as he gave me! Did -you see him on the landing?" - -"Who are you talking of?" Emily asked. - -Mrs. Rook's failing voice sank lower still. - -"Come closer," she said, "this must be whispered. Who am I -talking of?" she repeated. "I am talking of the man who slept in -the other bed at the inn; the man who did the deed with his own -razor. He was gone when I looked into the outhouse in the gray of -the morning. Oh, I have done my duty! I have told Mr. Rook to -keep an eye on him downstairs. You haven't an idea how obstinate -and stupid my husband is. He says I couldn't know the man, -because I didn't see him. Ha! there's such a thing as hearing, -when you don't see. I heard--and I knew it again." - -Emily turned cold from head to foot. - -"What did you know again?" she said. - -"His voice," Mrs. Rook answered. "I'll swear to his voice before -all the judges in England." - -Emily rushed to the bed. She looked at the woman who had said -those dreadful words, speechless with horror. - -"You're breaking your promise!" cried Mrs. Rook. "You false girl, -you're breaking your promise!" - -She snatched at the veil, and put it on again. The sight of her -face, momentary as it had been, reassured Emily. Her wild eyes, -made wilder still by the blurred stains of rouge below them, half -washed away--her disheveled hair, with streaks of gray showing -through the dye--presented a spectacle which would have been -grotesque under other circumstances, but which now reminded Emily -of Mr. Rook's last words; warning her not to believe what his -wife said, and even declaring his conviction that her intellect -was deranged. Emily drew back from the bed, conscious of an -overpowering sense of self-reproach. Although it was only for a -moment, she had allowed her faith in Mirabel to be shaken by a -woman who was out of her mind. - -"Try to forgive me," she said. "I didn't willfully break my -promise; you frightened me." - -Mrs. Rook began to cry. "I was a handsome woman in my time," she -murmured. "You would say I was handsome still, if the clumsy -fools about me had not spoiled my appearance. Oh, I do feel so -weak! Where's my medicine?" - -The bottle was on the table. Emily gave her the prescribed dose, -and revived her failing strength. - -"I am an extraordinary person," she resumed. "My resolution has -always been the admiration of every one who knew me. But my mind -feels--how shall I express it?--a little vacant. Have mercy on my -poor wicked soul! Help me." - -"How can I help you?" - -"I want to recollect. Something happened in the summer time, when -we were talking at Netherwoods. I mean when that impudent master -at the school showed his suspicions of me. (Lord! how he -frightened me, when he turned up afterward at Sir Jervis's -house.) You must have seen yourself he suspected me. How did he -show it?" - -"He showed you my locket," Emily answered. - -"Oh, the horrid reminder of the murder!" Mrs. Rook exclaimed. -"_I_ didn't mention it: don't blame Me. You poor innocent, I have -something dreadful to tell you." - -Emily's horror of the woman forced her to speak. "Don't tell me!" -she cried. "I know more than you suppose; I know what I was -ignorant of when you saw the locket." - -Mrs. Rook took offense at the interruption. - -"Clever as you are, there's one thing you don't know," she said. -"You asked me, just now, who the pocketbook belonged to. It -belonged to your father. What's the matter? Are you crying?" - -Emily was thinking of her father. The pocketbook was the last -present she had given to him--a present on his birthday. "Is it -lost?" she asked sadly. - -"No; it's not lost. You will hear more of it directly. Dry your -eyes, and expect something interesting--I'm going to talk about -love. Love, my dear, means myself. Why shouldn't it? I'm not the -only nice-looking woman, married to an old man, who has had a -lover." - -"Wretch! what has that got to do with it?" - -"Everything, you rude girl! My lover was like the rest of them; -he would bet on race-horses, and he lost. He owned it to me, on -the day when your father came to our inn. He said, 'I must find -the money--or be off to America, and say good-by forever.' I was -fool enough to be fond of him. It broke my heart to hear him talk -in that way. I said, 'If I find the money, and more than the -money, will you take me with you wherever you go?' Of course, he -said Yes. I suppose you have heard of the inquest held at our old -place by the coroner and jury? Oh, what idiots! They believed I -was asleep on the night of the murder. I never closed my eyes--I -was so miserable, I was so tempted." - -"Tempted? What tempted you?" - -"Do you think I had any money to spare? Your father's pocketbook -tempted me. I had seen him open it, to pay his bill over-night. -It was full of bank-notes. Oh, what an overpowering thing love -is! Perhaps you have known it yourself." - -Emily's indignation once more got the better of her prudence. -"Have you no feeling of decency on your death-bed!" she said. - -Mrs. Rook forgot her piety; she was ready with an impudent -rejoinder. "You hot-headed little woman, your time will come," -she answered. "But you're right--I am wandering from the point; I -am not sufficiently sensible of this solemn occasion. By-the-by, -do you notice my language? I inherit correct English from my -mother--a cultivated person, who married beneath her. My paternal -grandfather was a gentleman. Did I tell you that there came a -time, on that dreadful night, when I could stay in bed no longer? -The pocketbook--I did nothing but think of that devilish -pocketbook, full of bank-notes. My husband was fast asleep all -the time. I got a chair and stood on it. I looked into the place -where the two men were sleeping, through the glass in the top of -the door. Your father was awake; he was walking up and down the -room. What do you say? Was he agitated? I didn't notice. I don't -know whether the other man was asleep or awake. I saw nothing but -the pocketbook stuck under the pillow, half in and half out. Your -father kept on walking up and down. I thought to myself, 'I'll -wait till he gets tired, and then I'll have another look at the -pocketbook.' Where's the wine? The doctor said I might have a -glass of wine when I wanted it." - -Emily found the wine and gave it to her. She shuddered as she -accidentally touched Mrs. Rook's hand. - -The wine helped the sinking woman. - -"I must have got up more than once," she resumed. "And more than -once my heart must have failed me. I don't clearly remember what -I did, till the gray of the morning came. I think that must have -been the last time I looked through the glass in the door." - -She began to tremble. She tore the veil off her face. She cried -out piteously, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner! Come here," she -said to Emily. "Where are you? No! I daren't tell you what I saw; -I daren't tell you what I did. When you're pos sessed by the -devil, there's nothing, nothing, nothing you can't do! Where did -I find the courage to unlock the door? Where did I find the -courage to go in? Any other woman would have lost her senses, -when she found blood on her fingers after taking the -pocketbook--" - -Emily's head swam; her heart beat furiously--she staggered to the -door, and opened it to escape from the room. - -"I'm guilty of robbing him; but I'm innocent of his blood!" Mrs. -Rook called after her wildly. "The deed was done--the yard door -was wide open, and the man was gone--when I looked in for the -last time. Come back, come back!" - -Emily looked round. - -"I can't go near you," she said, faintly. - -"Come near enough to see this." - -She opened her bed-gown at the throat, and drew up a loop of -ribbon over her head. 'The pocketbook was attached to the ribbon. -She held it out. - -"Your father's book," she said. "Won't you take your father's -book?" - -For a moment, and only for a moment, Emily was repelled by the -profanation associated with her birthday gift. Then, the loving -remembrance of the dear hands that had so often touched that -relic, drew the faithful daughter back to the woman whom she -abhorred. Her eyes rested tenderly on the book. Before it had -lain in that guilty bosom, it had been _his_ book. The beloved -memory was all that was left to her now; the beloved memory -consecrated it to her hand. She took the book. - -"Open it," said Mrs. Rook. - -There were two five-pound bank-notes in it. - -"His?" Emily asked. - -"No; mine--the little I have been able to save toward restoring -what I stole." - -"Oh!" Emily cried, "is there some good in this woman, after all?" - -"There's no good in the woman!" Mrs. Rook answered desperately. -"There's nothing but fear--fear of hell now; fear of the -pocketbook in the past time. Twice I tried to destroy it--and -twice it came back, to remind me of the duty that I owed to my -miserable soul. I tried to throw it into the fire. It struck the -bar, and fell back into the fender at my feet. I went out, and -cast it into the well. It came back again in the first bucket of -water that was drawn up. From that moment, I began to save what I -could. Restitution! Atonement! I tell you the book found a -tongue--and those were the grand words it dinned in my ears, -morning and night." She stooped to fetch her breath--stopped, and -struck her bosom. "I hid it here, so that no person should see -it, and no person take it from me. Superstition? Oh, yes, -superstition! Shall tell you something? _You_ may find yourself -superstitious, if you are ever cut to the heart as I was. He left -me! The man I had disgraced myself for, deserted me on the day -when I gave him the stolen money. He suspected it was stolen; he -took care of his own cowardly self--and left me to the hard mercy -of the law, if the theft was found out. What do you call that, in -the way of punishment? Haven't I suffered? Haven't I made -atonement? Be a Christian--say you forgive me." - -"I do forgive you." - -"Say you will pray for me." - -"I will." - -"Ah! that comforts me! Now you can go." - -Emily looked at her imploringly. "Don't send me away, knowing no -more of the murder than I knew when I came here! Is there -nothing, really nothing, you can tell me?" - -Mrs. Rook pointed to the door. - -"Haven't I told you already? Go downstairs, and see the wretch -who escaped in the dawn of the morning!" - -"Gently, ma'am, gently! You're talking too loud," cried a mocking -voice from outside. - -"It's only the doctor," said Mrs. Rook. She crossed her hands -over her bosom with a deep-drawn sigh. "I want no doctor, now. My -peace is made with my Maker. I'm ready for death; I'm fit for -Heaven. Go away! go away!" - - -CHAPTER LXII. - -DOWNSTAIRS. - -In a moment more, the doctor came in--a brisk, smiling, -self-sufficient man--smartly dressed, with a flower in his -button-hole. A stifling odor of musk filled the room, as he drew -out his handkerchief with a flourish, and wiped his forehead. - -"Plenty of hard work in my line, just now," he said. "Hullo, Mrs. -Rook! somebody has been allowing you to excite yourself. I heard -you, before I opened the door. Have you been encouraging her to -talk?" he asked, turning to Emily, and shaking his finger at her -with an air of facetious remonstrance. - -Incapable of answering him; forgetful of the ordinary restraints -of social intercourse--with the one doubt that preserved her -belief in Mirabel, eager for confirmation--Emily signed to this -stranger to follow her into a corner of the room, out of hearing. -She made no excuses: she took no notice of his look of surprise. -One hope was all she could feel, one word was all she could say, -after that second assertion of Mirabel's guilt. Indicating Mrs. -Rook by a glance at the bed, she whispered the word: - -"Mad?" - -Flippant and familiar, the doctor imitated her; he too looked at -the bed. - -"No more mad than you are, miss. As I said just now, my patient -has been exciting herself; I daresay she has talked a little -wildly in consequence. _Hers_ isn't a brain to give way, I can -tell you. But there's somebody else--" - -Emily had fled from the room. He had destroyed her last fragment -of belief in Mirabel's innocence. She was on the landing trying -to console herself, when the doctor joined her. - -"Are you acquainted with the gentleman downstairs?" he asked. - -"What gentleman?" - -"I haven't heard his name; he looks like a clergyman. If you know -him--" - -"I do know him. I can't answer questions! My mind--" - -"Steady your mind, miss! and take your friend home as soon as you -can. _He_ hasn't got Mrs. Rook's hard brain; he's in a state of -nervous prostration, which may end badly. Do you know where he -lives?" - -"He is staying with his sister--Mrs. Delvin." - -"Mrs. Delvin! she's a friend and patient of mine. Say I'll look -in to-morrow morning, and see what I can do for her brother. In -the meantime, get him to bed, and to rest; and don't be afraid of -giving him brandy." - -The doctor returned to the bedroom. Emily heard Mrs. Ellmother's -voice below. - -"Are you up there, miss?" - -"Yes." - -Mrs. Ellmother ascended the stairs. "It was an evil hour," she -said, "that you insisted on going to this place. Mr. Mirabel--" -The sight of Emily's face suspended the next words on her lips. -She took the poor young mistress in her motherly arms. "Oh, my -child! what has happened to you?" - -"Don't ask me now. Give me your arm--let us go downstairs." - -"You won't be startled when you see Mr. Mirabel--will you, my -dear? I wouldn't let them disturb you; I said nobody should speak -to you but myself. The truth is, Mr. Mirabel has had a dreadful -fright. What are you looking for?" - -"Is there a garden here? Any place where we can breathe the fresh -air?" - -There was a courtyard at the back of the house. They found their -way to it. A bench was placed against one of the walls. They sat -down. - -"Shall I wait till you're better before I say any more?" Mrs. -Ellmother asked. "No? You want to hear about Mr. Mirabel? My -dear, he came into the parlor where I was; and Mr. Rook came in -too---and waited, looking at him. Mr. Mirabel sat down in a -corner, in a dazed state as I thought. It wasn't for long. He -jumped up, and clapped his hand on his heart as if his heart hurt -him. 'I must and will know what's going on upstairs,' he says. -Mr. Rook pulled him back, and told him to wait till the young -lady came down. Mr. Mirabel wouldn't hear of it. 'Your wife's -frightening her,' he says; 'your wife's telling her horrible -things about me.' He was taken on a sudden with a shivering fit; -his eyes rolled, and his teeth chattered. Mr. Rook made matters -worse; he lost his temper. 'I'm damned,' he says, 'if I don't -begin to think you _are_ the man, after all; I've half a mind to -send for the police.' Mr. Mirabel dropped into his chair. His -eyes stared, his mouth fell open. I took hold of his hand. -Cold--cold as ice. What it all meant I can't say. Oh, miss, _you_ -know! Let me tell you the rest of it some other time." - -Emily insisted on hearing more. "The end!" she cried. "How did it -end?" - -"I don't know how it might have ended, if the doctor hadn't come -in--to pay his visit, you know, upstairs. He said some learned -words. When he came to plain English, he asked if anybody had -frig htened the gentleman. I said Mr. Rook had frightened him. -The doctor says to Mr. Rook, 'Mind what you are about. If you -frighten him again, you may have his death to answer for.' That -cowed Mr. Rook. He asked what he had better do. 'Give me some -brandy for him first,' says the doctor; 'and then get him home at -once.' I found the brandy, and went away to the inn to order the -carriage. Your ears are quicker than mine, miss--do I hear it -now?" - -They rose, and went to the house door. The carriage was there. - -Still cowed by what the doctor had said, Mr. Rook appeared, -carefully leading Mirabel out. He had revived under the action of -the stimulant. Passing Emily he raised his eyes to -her--trembled--and looked down again. When Mr. Rook opened the -door of the carriage he paused, with one of his feet on the step. -A momentary impulse inspired him with a false courage, and -brought a flush into his ghastly face. He turned to Emily. - -"May I speak to you?" he asked. - -She started back from him. He looked at Mrs. Ellmother. "Tell her -I am innocent," he said. The trembling seized on him again. Mr. -Rook was obliged to lift him into the carriage. - -Emily caught at Mrs. Ellmother's arm. "You go with him," she -said. "I can't." - -"How are you to get back, miss?" - -She turned away and spoke to the coachman. "I am not very well. I -want the fresh air--I'll sit by you." - -Mrs. Ellmother remonstrated and protested, in vain. As Emily had -determined it should be, so it was. - -"Has he said anything?" she asked, when they had arrived at their -journey's end. - -"He has been like a man frozen up; he hasn't said a word; he -hasn't even moved." - -"Take him to his sister; and tell her all that you know. Be -careful to repeat what the doctor said. I can't face Mrs. Delvin. -Be patient, my good old friend; I have no secrets from you. Only -wait till to-morrow; and leave me by myself to-night." - -Alone in her room, Emily opened her writing-case. Searching among -the letters in it, she drew out a printed paper. It was the -Handbill describing the man who had escaped from the inn, and -offering a reward for the discovery of him. - -At the first line of the personal description of the fugitive, -the paper dropped from her hand. Burning tears forced their way -into her eyes. Feeling for her handkerchief, she touched the -pocketbook which she had received from Mrs. Rook. After a little -hesitation she took it out. She looked at it. She opened it. - -The sight of the bank-notes repelled her; she hid them in one of -the pockets of the book. There was a second pocket which she had -not yet examined. She pat her hand into it, and, touching -something, drew out a letter. - -The envelope (already open) was addressed to "James Brown, Esq., -Post Office, Zeeland. "Would it be inconsistent with her respect -for her father's memory to examine the letter? No; a glance would -decide whether she ought to read it or not. - -It was without date or address; a startling letter to look -at--for it only contained three words: - -"I say No." - -The words were signed in initials: - -"S. J." - -In the instant when she read the initials, the name occurred to -her. - -Sara Jethro. - - -CHAPTER LXIII. - -THE DEFENSE OF MIRABEL. - -The discovery of the letter gave a new direction to Emily's -thoughts--and so, for the time at least, relieved her mind from -the burden that weighed on it. To what question, on her father's -part, had "I say No" been Miss Jethro's brief and stern reply? -Neither letter nor envelope offered the slightest hint that might -assist inquiry; even the postmark had been so carelessly -impressed that it was illegible. - -Emily was still pondering over the three mysterious words, when -she was interrupted by Mrs. Ellmother's voice at the door. - -"I must ask you to let me come in, miss; though I know you wished -to be left by yourself till to-morrow. Mrs. Delvin says she must -positively see you to-night. It's my belief that she will send -for the servants, and have herself carried in here, if you refuse -to do what she asks. You needn't be afraid of seeing Mr. -Mirabel." - -"Where is he?" - -"His sister has given up her bedroom to him," Mrs. Ellmother -answered. "She thought of your feelings before she sent me -here--and had the curtains closed between the sitting-room and -the bedroom. I suspect my nasty temper misled me, when I took a -dislike to Mrs. Delvin. She's a good creature; I'm sorry you -didn't go to her as soon as we got back." - -"Did she seem to be angry, when she sent you here?" - -"Angry! She was crying when I left her." - -Emily hesitated no longer. - -She noticed a remarkable change in the invalid's sitting-room--so -brilliantly lighted on other occasions--the moment she entered -it. The lamps were shaded, and the candles were all extinguished. -"My eyes don't bear the light so well as usual," Mrs. Delvin -said. "Come and sit near me, Emily; I hope to quiet your mind. I -should be grieved if you left my house with a wrong impression of -me." - -Knowing what she knew, suffering as she must have suffered, the -quiet kindness of her tone implied an exercise of self-restraint -which appealed irresistibly to Emily's sympathies. "Forgive me," -she said, "for having done you an injustice. I am ashamed to -think that I shrank from seeing you when I returned from -Belford." - -"I will endeavor to be worthy of your better opinion of me," Mrs. -Delvin replied. "In one respect at least, I may claim to have had -your best interests at heart--while we were still personally -strangers. I tried to prevail on my poor brother to own the -truth, when he discovered the terrible position in which he was -placed toward you. He was too conscious of the absence of any -proof which might induce you to believe him, if he attempted to -defend himself--in one word, he was too timid--to take my advice. -He has paid the penalty, and I have paid the penalty, of -deceiving you." - -Emily started. "In what way have you deceived me?" she asked. - -"In the way that was forced on us by our own conduct," Mrs. -Delvin said. "We have appeared to help you, without really doing -so; we calculated on inducing you to marry my brother, and then -(when he could speak with the authority of a husband) on -prevailing on you to give up all further inquiries. When you -insisted on seeing Mrs. Rook, Miles had the money in his hand to -bribe her and her husband to leave England." - -"Oh, Mrs. Delvin!" - -"I don't attempt to excuse myself. I don't expect you to consider -how sorely I was tempted to secure the happiness of my brother's -life, by marriage with such a woman as yourself. I don't remind -you that I knew--when I put obstacles in your way--that you were -blindly devoting yourself to the discovery of an innocent man." - -Emily heard her with angry surprise. "Innocent?" she repeated. -"Mrs. Rook recognized his voice the instant she heard him speak." - -Impenetrable to interruption, Mrs. Delvin went on. "But what I do -ask," she persisted, "even after our short acquaintance, is this. -Do you suspect me of deliberately scheming to make you the wife -of a murderer?" - -Emily had never viewed the serious question between them in this -light. Warmly, generously, she answered the appeal that had been -made to her. "Oh, don't think that of me! I know I spoke -thoughtlessly and cruelly to you, just now--" - -"You spoke impulsively," Mrs. Delvin interposed; "that was all. -My one desire before we part--how can I expect you to remain -here, after what has happened?--is to tell you the truth. I have -no interested object in view; for all hope of your marriage with -my brother is now at an end. May I ask if you have heard that he -and your father were strangers, when they met at the inn?" - -"Yes; I know that." - -"If there had been any conversation between them, when they -retired to rest, they might have mentioned their names. But your -father was preoccupied; and my brother, after a long day's walk, -was so tired that he fell asleep as soon as his head was on the -pillow. He only woke when the morning dawned. What he saw when he -looked toward the opposite bed might have struck with terror the -boldest man that ever lived. His first impulse was naturally to -alarm the house. When he got on his feet, he saw his own razor--a -blood-stained razor on the bed by the side of the corp se. At -that discovery, he lost all control over himself. In a panic of -terror, he snatched up his knapsack, unfastened the yard door, -and fled from the house. Knowing him, as you and I know him, can -we wonder at it? Many a man has been hanged for murder, on -circumstantial evidence less direct than the evidence against -poor Miles. His horror of his own recollections was so -overpowering that he forbade me even to mention the inn at -Zeeland in my letters, while he was abroad. 'Never tell me (he -wrote) who that wretched murdered stranger was, if I only heard -of his name, I believe it would haunt me to my dying day. I ought -not to trouble you with these details--and yet, I am surely not -without excuse. In the absence of any proof, I cannot expect you -to believe as I do in my brother's innocence. But I may at least -hope to show you that there is some reason for doubt. Will you -give him the benefit of that doubt?" - -"Willingly!" Emily replied. "Am I right in supposing that you -don't despair of proving his innocence, even yet'?" - -"I don't quite despair. But my hopes have grown fainter and -fainter, as the years have gone on. There is a person associated -with his escape from Zeeland; a person named Jethro--" - -"You mean Miss Jethro!" - -"Yes. Do you know her?" - -"I know her--and my father knew her. I have found a letter, -addressed to him, which I have no doubt was written by Miss -Jethro. It is barely possible that you may understand what it -means. Pray look at it." - -"I am quite unable to help you," Mrs. Delvin answered, after -reading the letter. "All I know of Miss Jethro is that, but for -her interposition, my brother might have fallen into the hands of -the police. She saved him." - -"Knowing him, of course?" - -"That is the remarkable part of it: they were perfect strangers -to each other." - -"But she must have had some motive." - -"_There_ is the foundation of my hope for Miles. Miss Jethro -declared, when I wrote and put the question to her, that the one -motive by which she was actuated was the motive of mercy. I don't -believe her. To my mind, it is in the last degree improbable that -she would consent to protect a stranger from discovery, who owned -to her (as my brother did) that he was a fugitive suspected of -murder. She knows something, I am firmly convinced, of that -dreadful event at Zeeland--and she has some reason for keeping it -secret. Have you any influence over her?" - -"Tell me where I can find her." - -"I can't tell you. She has removed from the address at which my -brother saw her last. He has made every possible inquiry--without -result." - -As she replied in those discouraging terms, the curtains which -divided Mrs. Delvin's bedroom from her sitting-room were drawn -aside. An elderly woman-servant approached her mistress's couch. - -"Mr. Mirabel is awake, ma'am. He is very low; I can hardly feel -his pulse. Shall I give him some more brandy?" - -Mrs. Delvin held out her hand to Emily. "Come to me to-morrow -morning," she said--and signed to the servant to wheel her couch -into the next room. As the curtain closed over them, Emily heard -Mirabel's voice. "Where am I?" he said faintly. "Is it all a -dream?" - -The prospect of his recovery the next morning was gloomy indeed. -He had sunk into a state of deplorable weakness, in mind as well -as in body. The little memory of events that he still preserved -was regarded by him as the memory of a dream. He alluded to -Emily, and to his meeting with her unexpectedly. But from that -point his recollection failed him. They had talked of something -interesting, he said--but he was unable to remember what it was. -And they had waited together at a railway station--but for what -purpose he could not tell. He sighed and wondered when Emily -would marry him--and so fell asleep again, weaker than ever. - -Not having any confidence in the doctor at Belford, Mrs. Delvin -had sent an urgent message to a physician at Edinburgh, famous -for his skill in treating diseases of the nervous system. "I -cannot expect him to reach this remote place, without some -delay," she said; "I must bear my suspense as well as I can." - -"You shall not bear it alone," Emily answered. "I will wait with -you till the doctor comes." - -Mrs. Delvin lifted her frail wasted hands to Emily's face, drew -it a little nearer--and kissed her. - - -CHAPTER LXIV. - -ON THE WAY TO LONDON. - -The parting words had been spoken. Emily and her companion were -on their way to London. - -For some little time, they traveled in silence--alone in the -railway carriage. After submitting as long as she could to lay an -embargo on the use of her tongue, Mrs. Ellmother started the -conversation by means of a question: "Do you think Mr. Mirabel -will get over it, miss?" - -"It's useless to ask me," Emily said. "Even the great man from -Edinburgh is not able to decide yet, whether he will recover or -not." - -"You have taken me into your confidence, Miss Emily, as you -promised--and I have got something in my mind in consequence. May -I mention it without giving offense?" - -"What is it?" - -"I wish you had never taken up with Mr. Mirabel." - -Emily was silent. Mrs. Ellmother, having a design of her own to -accomplish, ventured to speak more plainly. "I often think of Mr. -Alban Morris," she proceeded. "I always did like him, and I -always shall." - -Emily suddenly pulled down her veil. "Don't speak of him!" she -said. - -"I didn't mean to offend you." - -"You don't offend me. You distress me. Oh, how often I have -wished--!" She threw herself back in a corner of the carriage and -said no more. - -Although not remarkable for the possession of delicate tact, Mrs. -Ellmother discovered that the best course she could now follow -was a course of silence. - -Even at the time when she had most implicitly trusted Mirabel, -the fear that she might have acted hastily and harshly toward -Alban had occasionally troubled Emily's mind. The impression -produced by later events had not only intensified this feeling, -but had presented the motives of that true friend under an -entirely new point of view. If she had been left in ignorance of -the manner of her father's death--as Alban had designed to leave -her; as she would have been left, but for the treachery of -Francine--how happily free she would have been from thoughts -which it was now a terror to her to recall. She would have parted -from Mirabel, when the visit to the pleasant country house had -come to an end, remembering him as an amusing acquaintance and -nothing more. He would have been spared, and she would have been -spared, the shock that had so cruelly assailed them both. What -had she gained by Mrs. Rook's detestable confession? The result -had been perpetual disturbance of mind provoked by self-torturing -speculations on the subject of the murder. If Mirabel was -innocent, who was guilty? The false wife, without pity and -without shame--or the brutal husband, who looked capable of any -enormity? What was her future to be? How was it all to end? In -the despair of that bitter moment--seeing her devoted old servant -looking at her with kind compassionate eyes--Emily's troubled -spirit sought refuge in impetuous self-betrayal; the very -betrayal which she had resolved should not escape her, hardly a -minute since! - -She bent forward out of her corner, and suddenly drew up her -veil. "Do you expect to see Mr. Alban Morris, when we get back?" -she asked. - -"I should like to see him, miss--if you have no objection." - -"Tell him I am ashamed of myself! and say I ask his pardon with -all my heart!" - -"The Lord be praised!" Mrs. Ellmother burst out--and then, when -it was too late, remembered the conventional restraints -appropriate to the occasion. "Gracious, what a fool I am!" she -said to herself. "Beautiful weather, Miss Emily, isn't it?" she -continued, in a desperate hurry to change the subject. - -Emily reclined again in her corner of the carriage. She smiled, -for the first time since she had become Mrs. Delvin's guest at -the tower. - - -BOOK THE LAST--AT HOME AGAIN. - -CHAPTER LXV. - -CECILIA IN A NEW CHARACTER. - -Reaching the cottage at night, Emily found the card of a visitor -who had called during the day. It bore the name of "Miss Wyvil," -and had a message written on it which strongly excited Emily's -curiosity. - -"I have seen the telegra m which tells your servant that you -return to-night. Expect me early to-morrow morning--with news -that will deeply interest you." - -To what news did Cecilia allude? Emily questioned the woman who -had been left in charge of the cottage, and found that she had -next to nothing to tell. Miss Wyvil had flushed up, and had -looked excited, when she read the telegraphic message--that was -all. Emily's impatience was, as usual, not to be concealed. -Expert Mrs. Ellmother treated the case in the right way--first -with supper, and then with an adjournment to bed. The clock -struck twelve, when she put out the young mistress's candle. "Ten -hours to pass before Cecilia comes here!" Emily exclaimed. "Not -ten minutes," Mrs. Ellmother reminded her, "if you will only go -to sleep." - -Cecilia arrived before the breakfast-table was cleared; as -lovely, as gentle, as affectionate as ever--but looking unusually -serious and subdued. - -"Out with it at once!" Emily cried. "What have you got to tell -me?' - -"Perhaps, I had better tell you first," Cecilia said, "that I -know what you kept from me when I came here, after you left us at -Monksmoor. Don't think, my dear, that I say this by way of -complaint. Mr. Alban Morris says you had good reasons for keeping -your secret." - -"Mr. Alban Morris! Did you get your information from _him?_" - -"Yes. Do I surprise you?" - -"More than words can tell!" - -"Can you bear another surprise? Mr. Morris has seen Miss Jethro, -and has discovered that Mr. Mirabel has been wrongly suspected of -a dreadful crime. Our amiable little clergyman is guilty of being -a coward--and guilty of nothing else. Are you really quiet enough -to read about it?" - -She produced some leaves of paper filled with writing. "There," -she explained, "is Mr. Morris's own account of all that passed -between Miss Jethro and himself." - -"But how do _you_ come by it?" - -"Mr. Morris gave it to me. He said, 'Show it to Emily as soon as -possible; and take care to be with her while she reads it.' There -is a reason for this--" Cecilia's voice faltered. On the brink of -some explanation, she seemed to recoil from it. "I will tell you -by-and-by what the reason is," she said. - -Emily looked nervously at the manuscript. "Why doesn't he tell me -himself what he has discovered? Is he--" The leaves began to -flutter in her trembling fingers--"is he angry with me?" - -"Oh, Emily, angry with You! Read what he has written and you -shall know why he keeps away." - -Emily opened the manuscript. - - -CHAPTER LXVI. - -ALBAN'S NARRATIVE. - -"The information which I have obtained from Miss Jethro has been -communicated to me, on the condition that I shall not disclose -the place of her residence. 'Let me pass out of notice (she said) -as completely as if I had passed out of life; I wish to be -forgotten by some, and to be unknown by others.' With this one -stipulation, she left me free to write the present narrative of -what passed at the interview between us. I feel that the -discoveries which I have made are too important to the persons -interested to be trusted to memory. - - -1. _She Receives Me_. - -"Finding Miss Jethro's place of abode, with far less difficulty -than I had anticipated (thanks to favoring circumstances), I -stated plainly the object of my visit. She declined to enter into -conversation with me on the subject of the murder at Zeeland. - -"I was prepared to meet with this rebuke, and to take the -necessary measures for obtaining a more satisfactory reception. -'A person is suspected of having committed the murder,' I said; -'and there is reason to believe that you are in a position to say -whether the suspicion is justified or not. Do you refuse to -answer me, if I put the question?' - -"Miss Jethro asked who the person was. - -"I mentioned the name--Mr. Miles Mirabel. - -"It is not necessary, and it would certainly be not agreeable to -me, to describe the effect which this reply produced on Miss -Jethro. After giving her time to compose herself, I entered into -certain explanations, in order to convince her at the outset of -my good faith. The result justified my anticipations. I was at -once admitted to her confidence. - -"She said, 'I must not hesitate to do an act of justice to an -innocent man. But, in such a serious matter as this, you have a -right to judge for yourself whether the person who is now -speaking to you is a person whom you can trust. You may believe -that I tell the truth about others, if I begin--whatever it may -cost me--by telling the truth about myself.' - - -2. _She Speaks of Herself_. - -"I shall not attempt to place on record the confession of a most -unhappy woman. It was the common story of sin bitterly repented, -and of vain effort to recover the lost place in social esteem. -Too well known a story, surely, to be told again. - -"But I may with perfect propriety repeat what Miss Jethro said to -me, in allusion to later events in her life which are connected -with my own personal experience. She recalled to my memory a -visit which she had paid to me at Netherwoods, and a letter -addressed to her by Doctor Allday, which I had read at her -express request. - -"She said, 'You may remember that the letter contained some -severe reflections on my conduct. Among other things, the doctor -mentions that he called at the lodging I occupied during my visit -to London, and found I had taken to flight: also that he had -reason to believe I had entered Miss Ladd's service, under false -pretenses.' - -"I asked if the doctor had wronged her. - -"She answered 'No: in one case, he is ignorant; in the other, he -is right. On leaving his house, I found myself followed in the -street by the man to whom I owe the shame and misery of my past -life. My horror of him is not to be described in words. The one -way of escaping was offered by an empty cab that passed me. I -reached the railway station safely, and went back to my home in -the country. Do you blame me?' - -"It was impossible to blame her--and I said so. - -"She then confessed the deception which she had practiced on Miss -Ladd. 'I have a cousin,' she said, 'who was a Miss Jethro like -me. Before her marriage she had been employed as a governess. She -pitied me; she sympathized with my longing to recover the -character that I had lost. With her permission, I made use of the -testimonials which she had earned as a teacher--I was betrayed -(to this day I don't know by whom)--and I was dismissed from -Netherwoods. Now you know that I deceived Miss Ladd, you may -reasonably conclude that I am likely to deceive You.' - -"I assured her, with perfect sincerity, that I had drawn no such -conclusion. Encouraged by my reply, Miss Jethro proceeded as -follows. - - -3. _She Speaks of Mirabel_. - -"'Four years ago, I was living near Cowes, in the Isle of -Wight--in a cottage which had been taken for me by a gentleman -who was the owner of a yacht. We had just returned from a short -cruise, and the vessel was under orders to sail for Cherbourg -with the next tide. - -"'While I was walking in my garden, I was startled by the sudden -appearance Of a man (evidently a gentleman) who was a perfect -stranger to me. He was in a pitiable state of terror, and he -implored my protection. In reply to my first inquiries, he -mentioned the inn at Zeeland, and the dreadful death of a person -unknown to him; whom I recognized (partly by the description -given, and partly by comparison of dates) as Mr. James Brown. I -shall say nothing of the shock inflicted on me: you don't want to -know what I felt. What I did (having literally only a minute left -for decision) was to hide the fugitive from discovery, and to -exert my influence in his favor with the owner of the yacht. I -saw nothing more of him. He was put on board, as soon as the -police were out of sight, and was safely landed at Cherbourg.' - -"I asked what induced her to run the risk of protecting a -stranger, who was under suspicion of having committed a murder. - -"She said, 'You shall hear my explanation directly. Let us have -done with Mr. Mirabel first. We occasionally corresponded, during -the long absence on the continent; never alluding, at his express -request, to the horrible event at the inn. His last letter -reached me, after he had established himself at Vale Regis. -Writing of the society in the neighborhood, he infor med me of -his introduction to Miss Wyvil, and of the invitation that he had -received to meet her friend and schoolfellow at Monksmoor. I knew -that Miss Emily possessed a Handbill describing personal -peculiarities in Mr. Mirabel, not hidden under the changed -appearance of his head and face. If she remembered or happened to -refer to that description, while she was living in the same house -with him, there was a possibility at least of her suspicion being -excited. The fear of this took me to you. It was a morbid fear, -and, as events turned out, an unfounded fear: but I was unable to -control it. Failing to produce any effect on you, I went to Vale -Regis, and tried (vainly again) to induce Mr. Mirabel to send an -excuse to Monksmoor. He, like you, wanted to know what my motive -was. When I tell you that I acted solely in Miss Emily's -interests, and that I knew how she had been deceived about her -father's death, need I say why I was afraid to acknowledge my -motive?' - -"I understood that Miss Jethro might well be afraid of the -consequences, if she risked any allusion to Mr. Brown's horrible -death, and if it afterward chanced to reach his daughter's ears. -But this state of feeling implied an extraordinary interest in -the preservation of Emily's peace of mind. I asked Miss Jethro -how that interest had been excited? - -"She answered, 'I can only satisfy you in one way. I must speak -of her father now.'" - - -Emily looked up from the manuscript. She felt Cecilia's arm -tenderly caressing her. She heard Cecilia say, "My poor dear, -there is one last trial of your courage still to come. I am -afraid of what you are going to read, when you turn to the next -page. And yet--" - -"And yet," Emily replied gently, "it must be done. I have learned -my hard lesson of endurance, Cecilia, don't be afraid." - -Emily turned to the next page. - - -4. _She Speaks of the Dead_. - -"For the first time, Miss Jethro appeared to be at a loss how to -proceed. I could see that she was suffering. She rose, and -opening a drawer in her writing table, took a letter from it. - -"She said, 'Will you read this? It was written by Miss Emily's -father. Perhaps it may say more for me than I can say for -myself?' - -"I copy the letter. It was thus expressed: - - -"'You have declared that our farewell to-day is our farewell -forever. For the second time, you have refused to be my wife; and -you have done this, to use your own words, in mercy to Me. - -"'In mercy to Me, I implore you to reconsider your decision. - -"'If you condemn me to live without you--I feel it, I know -it--you condemn me to despair which I have not fortitude enough -to endure. Look at the passages which I have marked for you in -the New Testament. Again and again, I say it; your true -repentance has made you worthy of the pardon of God. Are you not -worthy of the love, admiration, and respect of man? Think! oh, -Sara, think of what our lives might be, and let them be united -for time and for eternity. - -"'I can write no more. A deadly faintness oppresses me. My mind -is in a state unknown to me in past years. I am in such confusion -that I sometimes think I hate you. And then I recover from my -delusion, and know that man never loved woman as I love you. - -"'You will have time to write to me by this evening's post. I -shall stop at Zeeland to-morrow, on my way back, and ask for a -letter at the post office. I forbid explanations and excuses. I -forbid heartless allusions to your duty. Let me have an answer -which does not keep me for a moment in suspense. - -"'For the last time, I ask you: Do you consent to be my wife? -Say, Yes--or say, No.' - - -"I gave her back the letter--with the one comment on it, which -the circumstances permitted me to make: - -"'You said No?' - -"She bent her head in silence. - -"I went on--not willingly, for I would have spared her if it had -been possible. I said, 'He died, despairing, by his own hand--and -you knew it?' - -"She looked up. 'No! To say that I knew it is too much. To say -that I feared it is the truth.' - -"'Did you love him?' - -"She eyed me in stern surprise. 'Have _I_ any right to love? -Could I disgrace an honorable man by allowing him to marry me? -You look as if you held me responsible for his death.' - -"'Innocently responsible,' I said. - -"She still followed her own train of thought. 'Do you suppose I -could for a moment anticipate that he would destroy himself, when -I wrote my reply? He was a truly religious man. If he had been in -his right mind, he would have shrunk from the idea of suicide as -from the idea of a crime.' - -"On reflection, I was inclined to agree with her. In his terrible -position, it was at least possible that the sight of the razor -(placed ready, with the other appliances of the toilet, for his -fellow-traveler's use) might have fatally tempted a man whose -last hope was crushed, whose mind was tortured by despair. I -should have been merciless indeed, if I had held Miss Jethro -accountable thus far. But I found it hard to sympathize with the -course which she had pursued, in permitting Mr. Brown's death to -be attributed to murder without a word of protest. 'Why were you -silent?' I said. - -"She smiled bitterly. - -"'A woman would have known why, without asking,' she replied. 'A -woman would have understood that I shrank from a public -confession of my shameful past life. A woman would have -remembered what reasons I had for pitying the man who loved me, -and for accepting any responsibility rather than associate his -memory, before the world, with an unworthy passion for a degraded -creature, ending in an act of suicide. Even if I had made that -cruel sacrifice, would public opinion have believed such a person -as I am--against the evidence of a medical man, and the verdict -of a jury? No, Mr. Morris! I said nothing, and I was resolved to -say nothing, so long as the choice of alternatives was left to -me. On the day when Mr. Mirabel implored me to save him, that -choice was no longer mine--and you know what I did. And now again -when suspicion (after all the long interval that had passed) has -followed and found that innocent man, you know what I have done. -What more do you ask of me?' - -"'Your pardon,' I said, 'for not having understood you--and a -last favor. May I repeat what I have heard to the one person of -all others who ought to know, and who must know, what you have -told me?' - -"It was needless to hint more plainly that I was speaking of -Emily. Miss Jethro granted my request. - -"'It shall be as you please,' she answered. 'Say for me to _his_ -daughter, that the grateful remembrance of her is my one refuge -from the thoughts that tortured me, when we spoke together on her -last night at school. She has made this dead heart of mine feel a -reviving breath of life, when I think of her. Never, in our -earthly pilgrimage, shall we meet again--I implore her to pity -and forget me. Farewell, Mr. Morris; farewell forever.' - -"I confess that the tears came into my eyes. When I could see -clearly again, I was alone in the room." - - -CHAPTER LXVII. - -THE TRUE CONSOLATION. - -Emily closed the pages which told her that her father had died by -his own hand. - -Cecilia still held her tenderly embraced. By slow degrees, her -head dropped until it rested on her friend's bosom. Silently she -suffered. Silently Cecilia bent forward, and kissed her forehead. -The sounds that penetrated to the room were not out of harmony -with the time. From a distant house the voices of children were -just audible, singing the plaintive melody of a hymn; and, now -and then, the breeze blew the first faded leaves of autumn -against the window. Neither of the girls knew how long the -minutes followed each other uneventfully, before there was a -change. Emily raised her head, and looked at Cecilia. - -"I have one friend left," she said. - -"Not only me, love--oh, I hope not only me!" - -"Yes. Only you." - -"I want to say something, Emily; but I am afraid of hurting you." - -"My dear, do you remember what we once read in a book of history -at school? It told of the death of a tortured man, in the old -time, who was broken on the wheel. He lived through it long -enough to say that the agony, after the first stroke of the club, -dulled his capacity for feeling pain when the next blows fell. I -fancy pain of the mind must f ollow the same rule. Nothing you -can say will hurt me now." - -"I only wanted to ask, Emily, if you were engaged--at one -time--to marry Mr. Mirabel. Is it true?" - -"False! He pressed me to consent to an engagement--and I said he -must not hurry me." - -"What made you say that?" - -"I thought of Alban Morris." - -Vainly Cecilia tried to restrain herself. A cry of joy escaped -her. - -"Are you glad?" Emily asked. "Why?" - -Cecilia made no direct reply. "May I tell you what you wanted to -know, a little while since?" she said. "You asked why Mr. Morris -left it all to me, instead of speaking to you himself. When I put -the same question to him, he told me to read what he had written. -'Not a shadow of suspicion rests on Mr. Mirabel,' he said. 'Emily -is free to marry him--and free through Me. Can _I_ tell her that? -For her sake, and for mine, it must not be. All that I can do is -to leave old remembrances to plead for me. If they fail, I shall -know that she will be happier with Mr. Mirabel than with me.' -'And you will submit?' I asked. 'Because I love her,' he -answered, 'I must submit.' Oh, how pale you are! Have I -distressed you?" - -"You have done me good." - -"Will you see him?" - -Emily pointed to the manuscript. "At such a time as this?" she -said. - -Cecilia still held to her resolution. "Such a time as this is the -right time," she answered. "It is now, when you most want to be -comforted, that you ought to see him. Who can quiet your poor -aching heart as _he_ can quiet it?" She impulsively snatched at -the manuscript and threw it out of sight. "I can't bear to look -at it," she said. "Emily! if I have done wrong, will you forgive -me? I saw him this morning before I came here. I was afraid of -what might happen--I refused to break the dreadful news to you, -unless he was somewhere near us. Your good old servant knows -where to go. Let me send her--" - -Mrs. Ellmother herself opened the door, and stood doubtful on the -threshold, hysterically sobbing and laughing at the same time. -"I'm everything that's bad!" the good old creature burst out. -"I've been listening--I've been lying--I said you wanted him. -Turn me out of my situation, if you like. I've got him! Here he -is!" - -In another moment, Emily was in his arms--and they were alone. On -his faithful breast the blessed relief of tears came to her at -last: she burst out crying. - -"Oh, Alban, can you forgive me?" - -He gently raised her head, so that he could see her face. - -"My love, let me look at you," he said. "I want to think again of -the day when we parted in the garden at school. Do you remember -the one conviction that sustained me? I told you, Emily, there -was a time of fulfillment to come in our two lives; and I have -never wholly lost the dear belief. My own darling, the time has -come!" - - -POSTSCRIPT. - -GOSSIP IN THE STUDIO. - - -The winter time had arrived. Alban was clearing his palette, -after a hard day's work at the cottage. The servant announced -that tea was ready, and that Miss Ladd was waiting to see him in -the next room. - -Alban ran in, and received the visitor cordially with both hands. -"Welcome back to England! I needn't ask if the sea-voyage has -done you good. You are looking ten years younger than when you -went away." - -Miss Ladd smiled. "I shall soon be ten years older again, if I go -back to Netherwoods," she replied. "I didn't believe it at the -time; but I know better now. Our friend Doctor Allday was right, -when he said that my working days were over. I must give up the -school to a younger and stronger successor, and make the best I -can in retirement of what is left of my life. You and Emily may -expect to have me as a near neighbor. Where is Emily?" - -"Far away in the North." - -"In the North! You don't mean that she has gone back to Mrs. -Delvin?" - -"She has gone back--with Mrs. Ellmother to take care of her--at -my express request. You know what Emily is, when there is an act -of mercy to be done. That unhappy man has been sinking (with -intervals of partial recovery) for months past. Mrs. Delvin sent -word to us that the end was near, and that the one last wish her -brother was able to express was the wish to see Emily. He had -been for some hours unable to speak when my wife arrived. But he -knew her, and smiled faintly. He was just able to lift his hand. -She took it, and waited by him, and spoke words of consolation -and kindness from time to time. As the night advanced, he sank -into sleep, still holding her hand. They only knew that he had -passed from sleep to death--passed without a movement or a -sigh--when his hand turned cold. Emily remained for a day at the -tower to comfort poor Mrs. Delvin--and she comes home, thank God, -this evening!" - -"I needn't ask if you are happy?" Miss Ladd said. - -"Happy? I sing, when I have my bath in the morning. If that isn't -happiness (in a man of my age) I don't know what is!" - -"And how are you getting on?" - -"Famously! I have turned portrait painter, since you were sent -away for your health. A portrait of Mr. Wyvil is to decorate the -town hall in the place that he represents; and our dear -kind-hearted Cecilia has induced a fascinated mayor and -corporation to confide the work to my hands." - -"Is there no hope yet of that sweet girl being married?" Miss -Ladd asked. "We old maids all believe in marriage, Mr. -Morris--though some of us don't own it." - -"There seems to be a chance," Alban answered. "A young lord has -turned up at Monksmoor; a handsome pleasant fellow, and a rising -man in politics. He happened to be in the house a few days before -Cecilia's birthday; and he asked my advice about the right -present to give her. I said, 'Try something new in Tarts.' When -he found I was in earnest, what do you think he did? Sent his -steam yacht to Rouen for some of the famous pastry! You should -have seen Cecilia, when the young lord offered his delicious -gift. If I could paint that smile and those eyes, I should be the -greatest artist living. I believe she will marry him. Need I say -how rich they will be? We shall not envy them--we are rich too. -Everything is comparative. The portrait of Mr. Wyvil will put -three hundred pounds in my pocket. I have earned a hundred and -twenty more by illustrations, since we have been married. And my -wife's income (I like to be particular) is only five shillings -and tenpence short of two hundred a year. Moral! we are rich as -well as happy." - -"Without a thought of the future?" Miss Ladd asked slyly. - -"Oh, Doctor Allday has taken the future in hand! He revels in the -old-fashioned jokes, which used to be addressed to newly-married -people, in his time. 'My dear fellow,' he said the other day, -'you may possibly be under a joyful necessity of sending for the -doctor, before we are all a year older. In that case, let it be -understood that I am Honorary Physician to the family.' The -warm-hearted old man talks of getting me another portrait to do. -'The greatest ass in the medical profession (he informed me) has -just been made a baronet; and his admiring friends have decided -that he is to be painted at full length, with his bandy legs -hidden under a gown, and his great globular eyes staring at the -spectator--I'll get you the job.' Shall I tell you what he says -of Mrs. Rook's recovery?" - -Miss Ladd held up her hands in amazement. "Recovery!" she -exclaimed. - -"And a most remarkable recovery too," Alban informed her. "It is -the first case on record of any person getting over such an -injury as she has received. Doctor Allday looked grave when he -heard of it. 'I begin to believe in the devil,' he said; 'nobody -else could have saved Mrs. Rook.' Other people don't take that -view. She has been celebrated in all the medical newspapers--and -she has been admitted to come excellent almshouse, to live in -comfortable idleness to a green old age. The best of it is that -she shakes her head, when her wonderful recovery is mentioned. -'It seems such a pity,' she says; 'I was so fit for heaven.' Mr. -Rook having got rid of his wife, is in excellent spirits. He is -occupied in looking after an imbecile old gentleman; and, when he -is asked if he likes the employment, he winks mysteriously and -slaps his pocket. Now, Miss Ladd, I think it's my turn to hear -some news. What have you got to tell me?" - -"I believe I can match your account of Mrs. Rook," Miss Ladd -said. "Do you care to hear what has become of Francine?" - -Alban, rattling on hitherto in boyish high spirits, suddenly -became serious. "I have no doubt Miss de Sor is doing well," he -said sternly. "She is too heartless and wicked not to prosper." - -"You are getting like your old cynical self again, Mr. -Morris--and you are wrong. I called this morning on the agent who -had the care of Francine, when I left England. When I mentioned -her name, he showed me a telegram, sent to him by her father. -'There's my authority,' he said, 'for letting her leave my -house.' The message was short enough to be easily remembered: -'Anything my daughter likes as long as she doesn't come back to -us.' In those cruel terms Mr. de Sor wrote of his own child. The -agent was just as unfeeling, in his way. He called her the victim -of slighted love and clever proselytizing. 'In plain words,' he -said, 'the priest of the Catholic chapel close by has converted -her; and she is now a novice in a convent of Carmelite nuns in -the West of England. Who could have expected it? Who knows how it -may end?" - -As Miss Ladd spoke, the bell rang at the cottage gate. "Here she -is!" Alban cried, leading the way into the hall. "Emily has come -home." - - - - - -End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of I Say No, by Wilkie Collins - |