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diff --git a/old/1629.txt b/old/1629.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8c04afc..0000000 --- a/old/1629.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14989 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of I Say No, by Wilkie Collins - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: I Say No - -Author: Wilkie Collins - -Release Date: February, 1999 [EBook #1629] -Last Updated: August 14, 2016 - - - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I SAY NO *** - - - - -Produced by James Rusk - - - - - -"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, that -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, in 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 take 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 of 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!" - -"Nobody 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 was 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 goes," 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, with 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," he 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 enough, 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 -streets, 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 bless 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 -something 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 went?" - -"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 why 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 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 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 plenty 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 lakes 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 should 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 -overpower 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. Morris, -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 -approached 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 be 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 provided 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, without 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." - -Mrs. 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 paused 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 does not 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. Instant 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 Indies?" - -"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 Emily's 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 shall 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, -and 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 showing 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," he 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 realize 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 engaged." - -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 it!" 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 intention 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. Ellmother 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?" - -Alban 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 -with 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." - -The 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 clergyman, 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 frightened 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 -corpse. 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 telegram 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 informed 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 -follow 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 EBook of I Say No, by Wilkie Collins - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK I SAY NO *** - -***** This file should be named 1629.txt or 1629.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/1629/ - -Produced by James Rusk - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, -set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to -copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to -protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. 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