I Say No ................................................................................................................................................................1

The small rain fell too softly to be heard in the garden; not a leaf stirred in the airless calm; the watchdog

was asleep, the cats were indoors; far or near, under the murky heaven, not a sound was stirring.

Miss Ladd knew her business as a schoolmistress too well to allow nightlights; 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

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 clockand reminded one of

There was no reply. After an interval the weary voice tried again, in louder tones:

A girl, whose bed was at the inner end of the room, sighed under the heavy heat of the nightand said, in

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 strangerand 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.

"Say we don't understand you," Emily answered, speaking for her schoolfellows; "and you will be nearer the

"Who expected you to understand me, when I only came here today? 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 youand I

have finished my education. The next big girl in the room is a year younger than meand she has finished

"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,

Some of the girls laughed. One of themthe hungry girl who had counted the strokes of the clocktook

"Never mind their laughing, Miss de Sor. You are quite right, you have good reason to complain of us."

"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 breedingand 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 girland how can I do it

in the dark? Miss de Sor, my name's Brown, and I'm queen of the bedroom. Inot Ceciliaoffer our

apologies if we have offended you. Cecilia is my dearest friend, but I don't allow her to take the lead in the

The sudden flow of candlelight 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 nightgown 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

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 mansay in the interests of propriety, a married doctor, with Miss

Ladd to look after himhad 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

nightgown, he would have noticed her long upper lip, her obstinate chin, her sallow complexion, her eyes

placed too close togetherand 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

While the girls were still admiring Francine, the clock struck the halfhour past eleven.

Cecilia stole on tiptoe to the doorlooked out, and listenedclosed the door againand 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

Such reasoning as this, with such personal attractions to recommend it, admitted of but one reply. The queen

Is a lovely girlwhose face possesses the crowning charm of expression, whose slightest movement reveals

the supple symmetry of her figureless 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 cakeall 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

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

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 toilettable for supper; away with the combs, the brushes, and the

lookingglass. 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 teachersespecially

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

suppertable? 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!

Andalas! alas!how vainly they tried, in after life, to renew the once unalloyed enjoyment of tarts and

In the unintelligible scheme of creation, there appears to be no human happinessnot even the happiness of

schoolgirlswhich is ever complete. Just as it was drawing to a close, the enjoyment of the feast was

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

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 halfway 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

Francine was the first to offer a suggestion. She shook and shivered in her bed, and said, "For heaven's sake,

"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

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 nightand they say the stairs here were made more than two hundred

The girls looked at each other with a sense of reliefbut 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

"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

Francine's belief in the ghost was too sincerely superstitious to be shaken: she started up in bed. "Oh, don't

"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?"

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 girland 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!"

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

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

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

"I think it's my turn now," she said, "to be interested and amused. May I ask you to begin, Miss Emily? All I

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 asleepand the stoutest of the three (softly, as became a young

The unblemished reputation of the bedroom was dear to Emily, in her capacity of queen. She felt herself

"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 youI am going to throw my

The soft voice of Ceciliasuspiciously drowsy in toneinterposed 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

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 longcontinued yawn.

"No," she said positively; "you are quite mistaken if you think I am going to sleep. Please exert yourself,

Emily appeared to be unwilling to exert herself. She preferred talking of the weather.

There could be no doubt of it. The leaves in the garden were beginning to rustle, and the pattering of the rain

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 herselfshe put questions.

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 raina heavy downpour by this timerattling against

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 referred to another relativeher 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 yearand I

"His property is landed property." Her voice faltered, as she referred to him, even in that indirect manner. "It

The delicacy which is easily discouraged was not one of the weaknesses in the nature of Francine.

Our thickskinned fellowcreatures have the rest of us at their mercy: only give them time, and they carry

their point in the end. In sad subdued tonestelling of deeplyrooted reserves of feeling, seldom revealed to

"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

suddenhe was in his grave when I first heard of itand Oh, he was so good to me; he was so good to

The gay highspirited little creature who took the lead among them allwho was the life and soul of the

Startled andto do her justiceashamed, 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 sistersand get reconciled to such a loss as mine. Don't make

"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

"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

In the brief interval that had passed, the weather had begun to change again. The wind was as high as ever;

She was too grateful to her friend and schoolfellow, 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

unfortunatelyplaced 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 considernoticed Francine's silence, in an interval when she might have

"She might have told me she was tired," Emily said to herself quietly. "Well! the best thing I can do is to put

As she took up the extinguisher, the bedroom door was suddenly opened from the outer side. A tall woman,

"Don't put it out." Saying those words, she looked round the room, and satisfied herself that the other girls

Emily laid down the extinguisher. "You mean to report us, of course," she said. "I am the only one awake,

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

tomorrow morning," she went on, "you can tell them that the new teacher, whom nobody likes, has left the

For once, even quickwitted Emily was bewildered. "Going away," she said, "when you have only been here

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 requesta 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

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

"I believe I knew him. But his name is so commonthere are so many thousands of 'James Browns' in

Englandthat 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 travelweeks and weeks before I saw his grave! I can

Emily looked at her for the first time, with eyes that betrayed a feeling of distrust. "What have I said to startle

"Nothing! I am nervous in stormy weatherdon't notice me." She went on abruptly with her inquiries. "Will

"And this," Emily continued, "is the thirtieth of June, eighteen hundred and eightyone. You can now judge

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 grandlyformed features still

suggested the idea of imperial beautyperhaps 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 meto 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

Her eyesthe dim black eyes that must once have been irresistibly beautifullooked at Emily so sadly that

the generous girl reproached herself for having doubted her father's friend. "Are you thinking of him," she

Miss Jethro made no direct reply. "You were fond of your father?" she added, in a whisper. "You told your

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?"

The candle was all burned out. Emily still offered her handand still Miss Jethro refused to see it.

"There is just light enough left," she said, "to show me my way to the door. Goodnightand goodby."

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

Emily's sense of selfrespect forbade her to persist any longer. "I beg your pardon for having kept you here

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

Miss Jethro sighed bitterly. "Young and warm heartedI was once like you!" She controlled that outburst of

despair. Her next words were spoken in steadier tones. "You will have ityou 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 wellbalanced 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 tonight. 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, goodnightand

The sound of the softlyclosed door was just audible in the darkness. She had spokenshe had gonenever

Miserable, interesting, unfathomable creaturethe 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, ladylike; and she stoops to use a false reference. Who is to reconcile such

Dawn looked in at the windowdawn 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.

Francine was awakened the next morning by one of the housemaids, bringing up her breakfast on a tray.

Astonished at this concession to laziness, i n an institution devoted to the practice of all virtues, she looked

"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 topsyturvy in

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

"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

Jethrowhich looks bad, doesn't it? Is there anything more I can do for you, miss? It's a beautiful day after

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 treesflower beds and shrubberies, and winding paths

prettily and invitingly laid outmade 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 fishpond, 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 tablewith a colorbox on one, and a portfolio on the other. Fluttering over the grass, at the

mercy of the capricious breeze, was a neglected sheet of drawingpaper. 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 indifferencethe 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

Looking up from the sketch, Francine was startled. She discovered a man, at the window of the Swiss

"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 finelyshaped intelligent facehidden, as to the lower part of it, by a

curly black beardwould 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

fellowcreatures, 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

Francine handed his sketch to him, through the window; doubtful whether the words that he had addressed to

Francine pointed to the pond. "If I had not been in time to pick it up, it would have been blown into the

Putting that question, he looked first at the sketchthen at the view which it representedthen 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

He looked at herand 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 politelypositive man.

"Put it in plain words, miss," he replied. "I have offended the predominant sense in your natureyour sense

of selfesteem. You don't like to be told, even indirectly, that you know nothing of Art. In these days,

everybody knows everythingand 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 selfesteemand 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

Francine began to feel a certain reluctant interest in him when he spoke of "our young ladies." She asked if he

The corners of his mouth turned up again. "I'm one of the masters," he said. "Are you going to belong to the

Francine bent her head, with a gravity and condescension intended to keep him at his proper distance. Far

from being discouraged, he permitted his curiosity to t ake additional liberties. "Are you to have the

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 someI am one of

themfind refuge in schools. Drawing is an 'Extra' at this school. Will you take my advice? Spare your good

He was so gravely in earnest that Francine burst out laughing. "You are a strange man," she said.

The furrows in his face deepened, the latent humor died out of his eyes. He turned to the summerhouse

"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 retireand let me thank you for the

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

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

"There is a sore place still left in me," he said; "and you have innocently hit it. Goodmorning."

Before she could speak again, he had turned the corner of the summerhouse, and was lost to view in a

So far, her interview with the drawingmaster 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

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

finelystrung 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

skeletonscaffolding 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 lookedwhite hair, and seventy years of age."

Francine approached Emily, moved by a rare impulse in her naturethe impulse to be sociable. "You look

In her present mood, Emily took the opportunity (in the popular phrase) of snubbing Francine. "You have

guessed wrong; I do regret," she answered. "I have found in Cecilia my dearest friend at school. And school

brought with it the change in my life which has helped me to bear the loss of my father. If you must know

what I was thinking of just now, I was thinking or my aunt. She has not answered my last letterand I'm

"Why? You don't know my aunt; and you have only known me since yesterday afternoon. Why are you

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 schoolan unfortunate little creature, whose destiny was to earn her own livingfilled the

narrow mind of Miss de Sor with perplexity. Having waited in vain for a reply, Emily turned away, and

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

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 railwayand 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

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

"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

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 incensebut 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

Harmless words in themselves, pursuing the same smooth course of flattery as beforebut 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

In a man, the sense of injury does sometimes submit to the discipline of silence. In a womannever.

Suddenly reminded of her past wrongs (by the pardonable error of a polite schoolfellow), Emily committed

"Would you believe it? I have been forbidden to reciteI, the head girl of the school. Oh, not today! It

happened a month agowhen 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 daggerscene in Macbeth.' There was a howlI can call it by no other namea 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 daggerscene or nothing. The result isnothing! An insult to Shakespeare, and an insult

to Me. I felt itI 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

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

In some surprise, Francine turned, and looked at the trees. She discoveredin full retreat, on his sidethe

Did he, too, admire the daggerscene? 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 lawna lovable object in a broad straw hat and a white dress, with a nosegay in her

"It's so hot in the schoolroom," she said, "and some of the girls, poor things, are so illtempered at

rehearsalI have made my escape. I hope you got your breakfast, Miss de Sor. What have you been doing

"The drawingmaster, my dear, is in love with Emily. Perhaps she doesn't care about him. Or, perhaps, I have

Cecilia had breakfasted to her heart's content on her favorite dishbuttered 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 saidand hid her face behind her fan. "Besides, if it came to

"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 herand we draw our own

Cecilia shook her head. "Thinking, Francine, of the new life before herand 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

"She told me you had been very kind in helping her. I daresay I should have heard more, if I had not fallen

"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 inscriptionshieroglyphics, I think they

are calledfound 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 ladiesand

"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 selfishisn'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

"Very likely," Francine agreedwithout even a pretense of sympathy. "But tell me, who are the four old

"First, Sir Jervis himselfseventy, last birthday. Next, his unmarried sisternearly eighty. Next, his

manservant, Mr. Rookwell past sixty. And last, his manservant's wife, who considers herself young,

being only a little over forty. That is the household. Mrs. Rook is coming today to attend Emily on the

"Nonot 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

"I was admiring your complexion, dear," she answered coolly. "Well, and why do you pity the Rooks?"

"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

"A murder?" cried Francine. "Oh, this is exciting! You provoking girl, why didn't you tell me about it

"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

"Oh, yesof 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

Alban Morrisdiscovered by Emily in concealment among the treeswas 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

Miss Ladd's drawingmaster 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 "Goodmorning" grudgingly. The women took no notice of himwith 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 herhe 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 holidaysand 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 goodby, 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 againin love with a girl who is young enough to be my

Hot tears rose in his eyes. He dashed them away savagely, and went on again faster than everresolved 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

"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.

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 handkerchiefstared at Albantook

courageand rubbed vigorously at her eyes. The instinct, which is worth all the reason that ever pretended

to enlighten mankindthe instinct that never deceivestold 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

They went together hand in hand to the village, and bought the new jug, and had it filled at the beershop.

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

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 schooland dropped her little curtseyand 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

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 uptrain from the North had stopped at the station. He heard the

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 womandressed

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 nearsighted, she kept her eyes halfclosed;

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 dyedher 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

"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

appearancenot 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,

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 natureand 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! Goodmorning."

Alban felt the reproof; she had appealed to his most readilyimpressible sensehis 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 wantthen tried again to pass onand again in vain. He had recovered his place in her

"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

therewhen 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 nothingand yet, merely

because it was a change, it roused his curiosity. "I ought to know something about the school," he answered.

"Bless my soul! You are a scholar, of courseand 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 manthat explains ita 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

The name that he was perpetually thinking ofon 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:

"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

"Oh, it doesn't matter," Mrs. Rook rejoined; "I shall find out at the school. The first turning to the left, I think

He was too deeply interested in Emily to let the housekeeper go without putting a question on his side:

"He? What put that into your head? He has never even seen Miss Emily. She's going to our houseah, 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 pleasethe time's gone by when a man

could frighten me. I like her Christian name. I call Emily a nice name enough. But 'Brown'! Goodmorning,

Mr. Morris; you and I are not cursed with such a contemptibly common name as that! 'Brown'? Oh, Lord!"

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 Emilywho at once pitied and avoided himof

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

journeyunder the care of a stranger, to fill an employment in the house of a strangernot 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.

Miss De Sor and Miss Wyvil were still sitting together under the trees, talking of the murder at the inn.

"It's the most uninteresting murder that ever was committed. What shall we do with ourselves? I'm tired of

"No part, my dear. I tried onceonly 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

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

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 daggerscene"? 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

"No, my dear; no news at all." Emily put her arms tenderly round her friend's neck. "The time has come,

"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 herand she has told me all about it. Don't be alarmed. There is no bad

"In a very agreeable wayyou are going to travel. Your father wishes you to be in London, in time for the

Cecilia guessed what had happened. "My sister is not getting well," she said, "and the doctors are sending her

"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

"I am too happy to go wherever Julia go es," Cecilia answered warmly; "I was thinking of you, dear." Her

tender nature, shrinking from the hard necessities of life, shrank from the cruellyclose 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

"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 hardhearted as I am. Think of your

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 manin 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.

All that longed for love in Emily's nature had clung round her schoolfriend since her father's death. Turning

deadly pale under the struggle to control herself, she made the effortand 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

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

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 sakeI can't bear it any longer!"

The governess parted them. Emily dropped into the chair that her friend had left. Even her hopeful nature

"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

Emily looked at her, with a heart softened by sorrow. There was no answering kindness in the eyes of Miss

"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 letterit 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 mineand

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

Under all this bitternessthe first exhibition of Francine's temper, at its worst, which had taken place since

she joined the schoolEmily saw, or thought she saw, distress that was too proud, or too shy, to show itself.

Francine was incapable of meeting the sympathy offered to her, even half way. "Never mind how," she said.

"Oh, Francine! Francine! what are you made of! Flesh and blood? or stone and iron? Write to me of

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

She rose impatiently, and looked at her watch. When would it be her turn to leave the school, and begin the

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 visitingcard; 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

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 distancewaiting

Emily's impulse was to avoid the drawingmaster 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 goodby. She

advanced to offer her hand, when he stopped her by pointing to Sir Jervis Redwood's card.

"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

"Did Miss Cecilia tell you that Mrs. Rook was acquainted with your father or with any members of your

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 fatherand putting it in a very strange

Emily's interest was instantly excited. She led the way back to the seats in the shade. "Tell me, Mr. Morris,

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.

"Are you hesitating on my account?" she asked. "Did Mrs. Rook say something of my father which I mustn't

Her innocent indifference tried his patience sorely. His memory went back to the past timerecalled the

illplaced passion of his youth, and the cruel injury inflicted on himhis 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 coldblooded as the rest of her sex!" That angry thought gave him

back his selfcontrol. 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 farfetched conclusion?"

"Whatever it may be," Emily said, "it is my conclusion, too. How did you answer her?"

"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

"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 yearsand she may remember him

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

"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 presentor Mrs. Rook may have

been speaking at random; on the chance of discovering whether you are related to some 'Mr. Brown' whom

"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

"If Mrs. Rook has any reasons for concealment, I believe you would have no chance of finding it

"Only one way occurs to me just now," he said. "Do you happen to have a miniature or a photograph of your

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

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

"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 thinklet me say, I hope I am not guilty of presumptionif I offer to be of some small service to one

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.

The subtle penetration which had long since led her to the discovery of his secretoverpowered, thus far, by

the absorbing interest of the momentnow 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

"After all that you have told me," she said, "I shall indeed feel obliged if you will be present when I see Mrs.

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

As mistress of a prosperous school, bearing a widelyextended 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 possessthe

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 waitingroom. Detained at the

final rehearsals of music and recitation, Miss Ladd was worthily represented by cold chicken and ham, a fruit

tart, and a pint decanter of generous sherry. "Your mistress is a perfect lady!" Mrs. Rook said to the servant,

wi th a burst of enthusiasm. "I can carve for myself, thank you; and I don't care how long Miss Emily keeps

As they ascended the steps leading into the house, Alban asked Emily if he might look again at her locket.

He examined the side on which the monogram appeared, inlaid with diamonds. An inscription was engraved

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

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

"And this is the dear young lady?" she said, lifting her hands in overacted 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

"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

"Is it a long journey to Sir Jervis Redwood's house?" Emily asked, at a loss what else to say to a woman who

"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 meunless it's my queer

Christian name. You look a little dull, my dear. Shall I begin amusing you before we are on the railway?

Thus far, Alban had controlled himself. This last specimen of the housekeeper's audacious familiarity reached

"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 worldI

don't know how you feel, miss; I protest against being brought into the world without asking my leave

firstmy 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, herselfthe 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. Rookand 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

Emily entreated him to restrain himself, by a look. Mrs. Rook was still too inveterately amiable to take

offense. She opened her travelingbag 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

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

"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 spiritI have long since ceased to believe in anything of the sort: I only use the word for want of a

bettermy 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 becomewhat's the

last new name for a freethinker? 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

"There's more than an hour yet before the train starts," Alban interposed. "I am sure, Miss Emily, you would

"Not at all a bad notion," Mrs. Rook declared. "Here's a man who can make himself useful, for once. Let's go

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

Mrs. Rook gayly opened the door. "Take me to the flowerbeds," she said. "I believe in nothingbut I adore

"Whatever pleases you, my dear, pleases me." With this reply, the compliant housekeeperas amiable as

Would she notice the locket as she sat down? Emily turned toward the window, so as to let the light fall on

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

"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 notwhen 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 ladysecretary

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 forgetin the interests of truth, you knowto 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 dressingroom 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 notat 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

While she was in full enjoyment of this last aggravation of the horrors of the prospect, Emily tried another

change of positionand, 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 watchchain? How they sparkle! Might I

Emily's fingers trembled; but she succeeded in detaching the locket from the chain. Alban handed it to Mrs.

She began by admiring the diamondswith a certain reserve. "Nothing like so large as Sir Jervis's diamonds;

She stopped. The inscription had attracted her notice: she began to read it aloud: "In loving memory of my

Alban seized the chance of making her betray herselfunder pretense of helping her. "Perhaps you find the

figures not easy to read," he said. "The date is 'thirtieth September, eighteen hundred and

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

"Perhaps, Mrs. Rook, you would like to look at the portrait?" he suggested. "Shall I open the locket for you?"

He opened it, and offered it to her. She neither accepted nor refused it: her hands remained hanging over the

The portrait produced no marked effect on Mrs. Rook. Had the date prepared her to see it? She sat looking at

itstill 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

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 youto say the least of it."

She eyed him steadily while he was speakingand turned to Emily when he had done. "You mentioned the

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 itselfa feeling of

"What are we to do next? Oh, Mr. Morris, you must have seen all sorts of people in your timeyou know

Emily forgot that he was in love with herforgot everything, but the effect produced by the locket on Mrs.

Rook, and the vaguely alarming conclusion to which it pointed. In the fervor of her anxiety she took Alban's

arm as familiarly as if he had been her brother. He was gentle, he was considerate; he tried earnestly to

compose her. "We can do nothing to any good purpose," be said, "unless we begin by thinking quietly.

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 twentyfour hours, Emily had seen two women shrinking from secret remembrances of her

fatherwhich might well be guilty remembrancesinnocently 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

"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

"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

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

Listening in silence, Alban remained silent when Emily's narrative had come to an end.

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

"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?"

"And in speaking of the murder at the village inn, you told me that the crime was committedI have

His manner still suggested that he was idly talking about what she had told him, while some more important

"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. Morrisyou 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

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

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

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

He went on with an uneasy consciencefor it seemed cruel to deceive her, even in the interests of

"Suppose we assume that this woman had injured your father in some way," he said. "Am I right in believing

"In that case, his death may have left Mrs. Rook in a position to be called to account, by those who owe a

"He may have left instructions with her, which might be of the greatest use to us."

"I will write today, and find out," Emily replied. "I had already planned to consult my aunt," she added,

"If your aunt has not received any positive instructions," Alban continued, "she may remember some allusion

Emily stopped him. "You don't know how my dear father died," she said. "He was struck downapparently

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 deathand he was as far from confirming his suspicions of Mrs. Rook as ever.

"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

"You talk as if I was sure of your help in the future," she said. "Have you forgotten that I leave school

today, never to return? In half an hour more, I shall be condemned to a long journey in the company of that

horrible creaturewith a life to look forward to, in the same house with her, among strangers! A miserable

"You will at least have one person, Miss Emily, who will try with all his heart and soul to encourage you."

"I mean," said Alban, quietly, "that the Midsummer vacation begins today; and that the drawingmaster is

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

"Mr. Morris! what can you be thinking of? Indeed, indeed, I am not ungrateful. I know you mean

kindlyyou 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!

"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."

"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 occasionthe 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 youI 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 selfesteem 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 humiliatedand you have done it."

"Take no offense, pray, where no offense is meant. Some few years since it was the great misfortune of my

"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 doubtI may

say this without conceit, remembering the miserable end of itthat my feeling for her was returned. Her

father and mother (excellent people) approved of the contemplated marriage. She accepted my presents; she

allowed all the customary preparations for a wedding to proceed to completion; she had not even mercy en

ough, or shame enough, to prevent me from publicly degrading myself by waiting for her at the altar, in the

presence of a large congregation. The minutes passedand 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 illtempered fellow standing in the road, and getting a good look

"You wore a brown jacket which fitted you as if you had been born in itand 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 lifeafter feeling,

honestly feeling, that I would as soon look at the devil as look at a womanthere 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 resolutionsthe resolution of

despair. Let's look at the humorous side of the story again. What do you think I did when the regiment of

"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 changenot 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 travelingnot at all

because your influence drew me back! Another interval passed; and luck turned my way, for a wonder. The

drawingmaster'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 mannot 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 selfdelusion 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 Englandnot 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, yesperfectly 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 proudI shall like you all the better, if you

Some girls, addressed with this reckless intermingling of jest and earnest, would have felt confused, and some

would have felt flattered. With a goodtempered resolution, which never passed the limits of modesty and

"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. Morrisyou won't think the worse of me, I hope, if

He had answered with the quaint gravity which was peculiar to him; but he was already conscious of a sense

"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

"If you have no objection," she answered, as composedly as if she had been addressing her grandfather.

She went on. "Another token of loveas I am informedis to tremble. Am I trembling?"

"Do I walk away with dignityand then stop, and steal a timid glance at my lover, over my shoulder?"

"In one last word, I have made a fool of myselfand you have taken the kindest possible way of telling me

This time, she made no attempt to reply in his own tone. The goodhumored gayety of her manner

disappeared. She was in earnesttruly, sadly in earnestwhen she said her next words.

"Is it not best, in your own interests, that we should bid each other goodby?" she asked. "In the time to

comewhen you only remember how kind you once were to mewe 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 Iso grieved to distress youam that heartless creature!"

Never in her life had she been so irresistibly charming as she was at that moment. Her sweet nature showed

He saw ithe felt ithe was not unworthy of it. In silence, he lifted her hand to his lips. He turned pale as

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, Emilywith the firm conviction that there is

a time of fulfillment to come in our two lives. Happen what may in the intervalI trust the future."

The words had barely passed his lips when the voice of one of the servants reached them from the house.

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 hesitationopened itread it. The color left her face: she

He read these words: "Come to London directly. Miss Letitia is dangerously ill."

The metropolis of Great Britain is, in certain respects, like no other metropolis on the face of the earth. In the

population that throngs the st reets, the extremes of Wealth and the extremes of Poverty meet, as they meet

nowhere else. In the streets themselves, the glory and the shame of architecturethe mansion and the

hovelare neighbors in situation, as they are neighbors nowhere else. London, in its social aspect, is the city

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 passedby merely

crossing a roadfrom 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

Emily stopped the cab before the garden gate of a cottage, at the further end of the row. The bell was

Personally, this good creature was one of the illfated 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 fellowcreatures alike. Her mistress (whom she had served for a quarter of a century and

more) called her "Bony." She accepted this cruelly appropriate nickname as a mark of affectionate

familiarity which honored a servant. No other person was allowed to take liberties with her: to every one but

"Because she's too fond of you to let you be distressed about her. 'Don't tell Emily'; those were her orders, as

"Miss Emily, I am disappointing you for your own good. Don't you know me well enough to trust me by this

"Then leave my mistress to meand 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 told me my aunt's illness was fever," she said"and now you speak of some complaint in her eyes.

"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 schooland

Doctor Allday was an elderly man, with a cool manner and a ruddy complexionthoroughly 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 housebuilt on clay, you know, and close to stagnant water) has been latterly complicated

"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 youespecially 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

"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 deliriumI

mean the apparent tendency of the words that escape her in that stateseems 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?"

"Ahjust what I expected. These faithful old servants always end by presuming on their fidelity. Did you

ever hear what a witty poetI forget his name: he lived to be ninetysaid 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 trueI might say the same of my housekeeper. Rather a good story, isn't

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 distressingvery distressing."

Who has not suffered as Emily suffered, when she was left alone? Are there not momentsif we dare to

confess the truthwhen 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 bedcurtains. The sooner you go to her the better,

perhapsif you have anything to say which depends on her recognizing your voice. I'll call tomorrow

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 bedchamber 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 nickname.

"Don't come in, Emily. It will only distress youand it will do me no good. God bles s you, my love. Don't

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

"You're contradicting your own orders," she said to her mistress. "You don't know how soon you may begin

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."

The old servant suddenly submittedwith a look which took Emily by surprise. She had expected to see

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

The dim light of a lamp hidden away in a corner and screened by a dingy green shade, just revealed the

closelycurtained bed, and the table near it bearing medicinebottles and glasses. The only objects on the

chimneypiece 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

"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 bedcurtains, you let in the light. My poor eyes! Why are you here, my dear? Why are

"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 pausedher sense of

what she had herself just said began to grow confused. "What stranger?" she asked abruptly. "Was it a man?

"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

"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 worseit seemed to make her suspicious. "I won't be deceived!" she said; "I mean

"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?"

Instantly on the utterance of that name, there followed an unexpected result. Silence ensued.

Emily waitedhesitatedadvanced, to part the curtains, and look in at her aunt. She was stopped by a

dreadful sound of laughterthe cheerless laughter that is heard among the mad. It suddenly ended in a

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

"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 foola hundred miles and more. Never mind the coroner, the coroner must keep in his own

districtand 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

Accustomed to decide rapidly in the ordinary emergencies of her life, Emily felt herself painfully

After what she had already heard, could she reconcile it to her sense of duty to her aunt to remain any longer

In the hopeless selfbetrayal 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

itthese were mysteries which left her entirely in the dark. She had found out that her aunt was acquainted

Blameless, so far, in the line of conduct that she had pursued, might she still remain in the bedchamberon

this distinct understanding with herself: that she would instantly return to the sittingroom 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,

Nowhen 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 servantwhen the sound of her aunt's

Was her mind getting clear again? Emily tried the experiment of making a plain reply. "Your niece is with

"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 deceptionand 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 herand I'll make Sara

Emily's heart beat fast when she heard the woman's name. "Sara" (as she and her schoolfellows 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

In the fervor of her anxiety to set her doubts at rest, Emily's faith in her own good resolutions began to waver.

The temptation to say somethin g which might set her aunt talking again was too strong to be resistedif 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

"Sara is only one of the woman's names," she said. "Do you like her other name?"

The rapidlymuttering tones broke out again instantlybut 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 fastfailing

"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

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

She parted the curtains. The shrouded lamplight just showed her the green shade over Miss Letitia s

eyesthe hollow cheeks below itthe arms laid helplessly on the bedclothes. "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 againspoke to the visionary servant of her delirious fancy, while she rested in

"For God's sake, take care how you answer if she questions you. If she knew what we know! Are men ever

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 herclosed the curtainsand rang

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

The person making this polite inquiry appeared at the foot of the stairsa plump and comely woman of

"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."

Emily's first actafter the discovery of Mrs. Ellmother's incomprehensible disappearancewas to invite the

"With pleasure, miss. Perhapsas you find me here, a stranger to yourself, in place of the customary

"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

"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

considerand, I think you won't considerthat 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

"Did Mrs. Ellmother give no reason for leaving my aunt, at such a time as this?" she asked.

"She burst out cryinga thing I have never known her to do before, in an experience of twenty years."

"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."

"No, indeedquite the contrary. She says, 'You will find Miss Emily at the cottage. She is Miss Letitia's

"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."

"Nothing more; except that she gave me my directions, of course, about the nursing. I took them down in

writingand you will find them in their proper place, with the prescriptions and the medicines."

Miss Letitia was silent, when the new nurse softly parted the curtainslooked inand drew them together

again. Consulting her watch, Mrs. Mosey compared her written directions with the medicinebottles on the

table, and set one apart to be used at the appointed time. "Nothing, so far, to alarm us," she whispered. "You

"If there is any change, Mrs. Moseyeither for the better or the worseof course you will let me know?"

Emily returned to the sittingroom: 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

But the event which had just happenedthat is to say, Mrs. Ellmother's sudden departure from the

cottagewas 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 illnessand

had put another woman in her place, careless of what that woman might discover by listening at the

bedsiderather 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 strangeranimated, 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 dreadedwho 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

choiceplaced between the alternatives of submitting to discovery by Emily, or of leaving the house.

Poor Miss Letitia's writingtable stood near the window of the sittingroom. 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 writingtable reminded

her that she owed a letter to Cecilia. That helpful friend had surely the first claim to know why she had failed

After mentioning the telegram which had followed Mrs. Rook's arrival at the school, Emily's letter proceeded

"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. Rookor 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

"Kind Mr. Alban Morris accompanied me to the railwaystation, 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 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

"No! I must not forget that I have another friendI 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? Goodby, my darling. While I can see

your sweet face, in my thoughts, I don't despairdark as it looks nowof 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

"May I say a word?" Mrs. Mosey inquired. She entered the roompale and trembling. Seeing that ominous

"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

"Oh, but I must tell you! In your own interests, Miss Emilyin your own interests. I won't be inhuman

enough to leave you alone in the house tonight; 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 mespeaking, 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 questionsyou know nothing about it. If she's

frightenedyou 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

At that last word, Mrs. Mosey dropped her voice to a whisperand waited to see what effect she had

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 solemnityand luxuriously terrified herself with her own

"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 otherI 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 youyou know I wouldn't deceive you,

for the world. Miss Letitia muttered and mumbled, poor soul. I own I was getting tired of listeningwhen

she burst out plain again, in that one horrid wordOh, 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

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, misslisten! The dreadful part of it is to come; you haven't heard about the two gentlemen yet. One

of them was murderedwhat 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 voicea fine round voice. You'll know him, my friendsthe wretch, the

monsteryou'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,

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 expectedhaving reached the end of her terrible

storyto 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 anticipationsand how had they been fulfilled?

"How dare you assault me?" she asked piteously. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. God knows I meant

"You are not the first person," Emily answered, quietly releasing her, "who has done wrong with the best

"No: not a word more on that subject shall pass between us. Remain here, if you please; I have something to

The purpose which had taken a foremost place in Emily's mind rested on the firm foundation of her love and

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

There was but one way of escaping from this dilemmaand 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 deathbedrather than permit Mrs.

Mosey to have a second opportunity of drawing her own inferences from what she might hear in 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 tomorrow

"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

Emily tried the effect of a conciliatory reply. "I am grateful for your kindness in offering to stay with me,"

"Very good of you, I'm sure," Mrs. Mosey answered ironically. "But for all that, you persist in sending me

"I persist in thinking that there is no necessity for my keeping you here until tomorrow."

Mrs. Mosey put her handkerchief in her pocket, and asserted her dignity. With head erect and

slowlymarching steps she walked out of the room. Emily was left in the cottage, alone with her dying aunt.

A fortnight after the disappearance of Mrs. Ellmother, and the dismissal of Mrs. Mosey, Doctor Allday

entered his consultingroom, 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.

The servant introduced a tall lady, dressed simply and elegantly in dark apparel. Noticeable features, of a

Jewish castworn and haggard, but still preserving their grandeur of formwere visible through her veil.

She moved with grace and dignity; and she stated her object in consulting Doctor Allday with the ease of a

"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 writingdesk, and added:

"I have become acquainted with the lady, by being one of the lodgers in her house."

The doctor recognized the nameand 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

"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 affairssuch as they areif you had considered my life to be in danger. "Is there nothing the matter

"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 exerciseand I see no reason wh y you shouldn't live to be an old woman."

"God forbid!" the lady said to herself. She turned away, and looked out of the window with a bitter smile.

Doctor Allday wrote his prescription. "Are you likely to make a long stay in London?" he asked.

"I should like to see you once more, before you go awayif you can make it convenient. What name shall I

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

"My correspondent has just left Miss Ladd," the doctor answered. "Are you a friend of hers?"

"You would be doing the poor child a kindness, if you would go and see her. She has no friends in London."

"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

"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.

"What makes you think, sir, that I can help you? I have never even heard of the servantand the mistress

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 goodmorning. "I must not occupy any more of your valuable time," she

Impenetrable as ever, he rang the bell. "Any patients in the waitingroom?" 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

"If you think that I take an interest in her, too," Miss Jethro interposed, "you are perfectly rightI knew her

father," she added abruptly; the allusion to Emily having apparently reminded her of the question which she

"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 isworry."

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

"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 directlyand 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,

He stoppedin 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 inquirywithout 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 overcan 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."

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 truthbut I have my own reasons for being afraid that she is deceiving

"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."

"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

"Before I reply," said Miss Jethro, "it may not be amiss to let the young lady speak for herself."

Miss Jethro pointed to the writing table. "Look there," she said. "You have not yet opened Miss Emily's

Absorbed in the effort to overcome his patient's reserve, the doctor had forgotten Emily's letter. He opened it

After reading the first sentence, he looked up with an expression of annoyance. "She has begun the

"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 somethingand here it

He held up a small printed Handbill, which had been placed between the first and second pages. "Suppose

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 HandinHand 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 wellmade man, of small stature. Fair complexion,

delicate features, clear blue eye s. Hair light, and cut rather short. Clean shaven, with the exception of narrow

halfwhiskers. Small, white, wellshaped hands. Wore valuable rings on the two last fingers of the left hand.

Dressed neatly in a darkgray touristsuit. Carried a knapsack, as if on a pedestrian excursion. Remarkably

good voice, smooth, full, and persuasive. Ingratiating manners. Apply to the Chief Inspector, Metropolitan

Miss Jethro laid aside the Handbill without any visible appearance of agitation. The doctor took up Emily's

"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

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

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

"Excuse me, it is of very serious importance. I have no authority over this poor girlI 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 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."

"I want to know one thing, first," Miss Jethro proceeded. "Did she tell youas she once told methat her

"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."

"I mean that she has been deceivedpurposely deceivedabout the manner of his death."

"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 auntand 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."

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

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

"Good God!" he cried, "her father was murderedand that woman was concerned in it."

Following the impulse that urged him, he secured the Handbill in his pocketbooksnatched up the card

which his patient had presented as her introductionand instantly left the house. He called the first cab that

"Gone"was the servant's answer when he inquired for her. He insisted on speaking to the landlady. "Hardly

"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

"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.

Arriving at the cottage, Doctor Allday discovered a gentleman, who was just closing the garden gate behind

"He asked after Miss Letitia's health. When he heard that she was dead, he seemed to be startled, and went

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

"At last, I have heard from my dearest friend," she said. "You remember what I told you about Cecilia? Here

is a lettera long delightful letterfrom the Engadine, left at the door by some gentleman unknown. I was

"You may question me, if you prefer it. I arrived just as the gentleman was shutting your garden gate."

"Tall, and thin, and dark. Wore a vile republicanlooking felt hat. Had nasty illtempered wrinkles between

The doctor looked at her with a sardonic smile; he thought it likely that he had discovered her sweetheart.

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 cottageand produced the Handbill that had been sent

"Isn't it strange," she suggested, "that the murderer should have escaped, with such a careful description of

"'Name not known. Supposed age, between twentyfive and thirty years. A wellmade man, of small stature.

Fair complexion, delicate features, clear blue eyes. Hair light, and cut rather short. Clean shaven, with the

exception of narrow halfwhiskers. Small, white, wellshaped hands. Wore valuable rings on the two last

"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

"I will say this, my dear. He would be able to disguise himself so effectually that ninetynine people out of a

"Look back at the description: 'Hair cut rather short, clean shaven, with the exception of narrow

halfwhiskers.' The wretch was safe from pursuit; he had ample time at his disposaldon'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?"

"I found it, with the scrapbook and the newspaper cuttings, under a collection of empty boxes and bottles, in

a drawer of the washhandstand. 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 writingdesk, on that sidetable, but a packet of notepaper and some

sealingwax. 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

With a mind inexpressibly relieved, good Doctor Allday asked permission to return to his patients: leaving

On his way out, he noticed that the door of the bedchamber 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 washhandstand to which

Emily had alluded. The doctor advanced to the house doorreflectedhesitatedand looked toward the

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 coexecutor 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 confidenceand, for that reason, he decided that he

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

washhandstand. 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 washhandstand. 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,

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

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 MADAMI 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,

"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

"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

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

Jethroand 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 foundedif 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

"If poor Miss Emily saw the old lady exhibited in the character of an informer," he thought, "what a blow

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

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 confidenceand he might even

have been a guest at the baronet's country seatwhen 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

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

She would once more have treated the baronet's communication with contemptbut for the discovery that it

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 readingroom 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

"I am making a little excursion from the Engadine, my dearest of all dear friends. Two charming

fellowtravelers 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 lastdying 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

"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

"Good heavens, I have forgotten her husband! They have been married rather more than a month. Did I tell

"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

"Never, EmilyI say it with a solemn sense of the claims of truthnever 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 selfcontrol.

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 horridplease 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

"We are two resolute womenI mean that she is resolute, and that I follow herand 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 exZouave 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 exZouave, 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 dogand you will

understand the allusion. Oh, Emily, what dinners we have had, in our own room, since we spoke to that noble

"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 facemy friend Doris, of course. "'What day was

"'Of all melancholy Sundays,' she continued, the most melancholy in the calendar. Mr. Miles Mirabel

"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 gentlemanthat 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

"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

"He is youngnot yet thirty years of age. His complexion is fair; his features are delicate, his eyes are clear

blue. He has pretty hands, and rings prettier still. And such a voice, and such manners! You will say there are

plen ty of pet parsons who answer to this description. Wait a littleI 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

"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,

"He has been clerk in a lawyer's officeunjustly dismissed. He has given readings from

Shakespeareinfamously neglected . He has been secretary to a promenade concert companydeceived by

a penniless manager. He has been employed in negotiations for making foreign railwaysrepudiated by an

unprincipled Government. He has been translator to a publishing housedeclared incapable by envious

newspapers and reviews. He has taken refuge in dramatic criticismdismissed 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 teapots 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 Englandat 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 Dorisand it shows (once

more in the language of his admirers) that the truest humility may be found in the character of the most gifted

"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 feelafter this long, long letterthat 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?

"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."

Without a care to trouble her; abroad or at home, finding inexhaustible varieties of amusement; seeing new

places, making new acquaintanceswhat a disheartening contrast did Cecilia's happy life present to the life

of her friend! Who, in Emily's position, could have read that joyouslywritten 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

uswhen virtuous resolution proves insufficientwhich resists by instinct the stealthy approaches of

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 flowerbeds;

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 shamefaced, 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

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 womanservant, 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 shranknot from accepting the invitationbut 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.

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

skyto 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 nowthe girls who used to say in their moments

of sadness, "Let us go to Emily and be cheered"would they know her again? She sat down to rest and

recover herself on the nearest bench. It was unoccupied. No passing footsteps were audible on the remote

path to which she had strayed. Solitude at home! Solitude in the Park! Where was Cecilia at that moment? In

Italy, among the lake s and mountains, happy in the company of her lighthearted friend.

The lonely interval passed, and persons came near. Two sisters, girls like herself, stopped to rest on the

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

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

needthe friend who pointed the way to a new world of action, the busy world of readers in the library of

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

"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 yearssay

five years from the present dateand let us see what your search over that interval will bring forth."

Accepting this friendly advice, Emily began with the newspapervolume 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

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 correspondencein 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

"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 morningI said you had gone to read at the Museum."

In half an hour more, Alban and Emily were together again. The light fell full on her face as she rose to

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 routinethe inevitable result of his

lifelong 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

"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 weaknesseven while giving way to itshe 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.

"Certainly! I should not otherwise have devoted my holidaytime to clearing them up."

"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

"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 himselfand, more wonderful still, he invited me to his house at our first

"Sir Jervis introduced himself?" Emily repeated, in amazement. "From Cecilia's description of him, I should

Instead of at once complying with her wishes, he pausedhesitatedand 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

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

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 waybut he became embarrassed as he went on. Was he disturbed by his recollections?

"Different people have different ways of telling a story," he said. "Mine is the methodical wayI begin at

the beginning. We will start, if you please, in the railwaywe will proceed in a onehorse chaiseand 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 cottagesI mean the hutsand 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 familythe 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

"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 colorbox 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."

"I give you my first impression, Miss Emily, for what it is worth. He had his highpeaked hat in his hand, to

keep his head cool. His wiry irongray 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 convenientbut 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?"

"That's the amusing part of it, Miss Emily. Give me a little breathing time, and you shall hear."

"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 drawingmaster 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 complimentSir 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 youare 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 syllablenot '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 kennelbedroom, 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

"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 readingroom. 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

He repeated the last words to himself. "Old newspapers?" he saidas if he was not quite sure of having

"I am looking through old newspapers," she resumed, "beginning with the year eighteen hundred and

He suddenly turned paleand 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.

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

He began to walk up and down the room againthen checked himself abruptly, and appealed to her mercy.

"Don't be hard on me," he pleaded. "I am so fond of youoh, forgive me! I only mean that it distresses me to

have any concealments from you. If I could open my whole heart at this moment, I shou ld be a happier

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

She replied, with some hesitation, "I should like to know what happened when you first saw Mrs. Rook." To

"We met," he said, "on the evening when I first entered the house. Sir Jervis took me into the

diningroomand there sat Miss Redwood, with a large black cat on her lap. Older than her brother, taller

than her brother, leaner than her brotherwith strange stony eyes, and a skin like parchmentshe 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 workand 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 civillyshe 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 handbell 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 herturned 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."

"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

tableand that is all I remember. Sir Jervis and I feasted on salt fish, mutton, and beer. Miss Redwood had

cold broth, with a wineglass 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 brothgrog!' 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 manservant 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,

tomorrow 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 diningrooma dreadful

record of shipwrecks and disasters at sea. When the room was full of tobaccosmoke we fell asleep in our

chairsand when we awoke again we got up and went to bed. There is the true story of my first evening at

Emily begged him to go on. "You have interested me in Miss Redwood," she said. "You kept your

"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 selfcommand in another

way. Miss Redwood declared her purpose in sending for me the moment I entered the room. Without any

preliminary remarksspeaking slowly and emphatically, in a wonderfully strong voice for a woman of her

ageshe 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 roomssuspicious! She asked if there was any objection to her changing to another

roomsuspicious! suspicious! Pray take a seat, sir, and tell me which Mrs. Rook is guilty oftheft or

"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, mindhe is

a mere cypher. I wish you goodmorning.' Will you believe me, when I tell you that the prophecy was

"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

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

"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

picturecleaner. 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 downstairsand 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

Londonpurposely made in Mrs. Rook's hearing. Do you agree with me, that my journey to

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

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

Museumhad examined the back numbers of the newspaperand 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

In the meanwhile Emily had broken the silence, before it could lead to embarrassing results, by asking if

"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 middleaged 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 picturecleaning. Finding me determined, Sir Jervis was quite ready to say

goodby. 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 breakfasttime. Sir Jervis said, 'You are going to London; suppose you take it

Emily at once handed to him Sir Jervis's letter. "That will tell you who employs me at the Museum, and what

"I have been a student in the readingroom 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

"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."

"If you will leave the five years, from 'seventysix to 'eightyone, entirely to me," she resumed, "and take the

next five years, reckoning backward from 'seventysix, 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

'Let us try my plan to begin with," he insisted. "While you are looking through 'seventysix, let me be at

work on 'seventyseven. If you still prefer your own arrangement, after that, I will follow your suggestion

Her acute perceptionenlightened by his tone as wall as by his wordsdetected something under the

"It isn't agreed until I understand you a little better," she quietly replied. "I fancy you have some object of

She spoke with her usual directness of look and manner. He was evidently disconcerted. "What makes you

"My own experience of myself makes me think so," she answered. "If I had some object to gain, I should

"No, Mr. Morris. I have made myself disagreeable, but I know when to stop. I trust youand 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,

"I have inexcusably prolonged my visit," he said. "If I presume on your kindness in this way, how can I hope

"Is there something he doesn't want me to see, in the news of the year 'seventyseven?" The one explanation

which suggested itself to her mind assumed that form of expressionand the one method of satisfying her

curiosity that seemed likely to succeed, was to search the volume which Alban had reserved for his own

For two days they pursued their task together, seated at opposite desks. On the third day Emily was absent.

She was at the library in the City, consulting the file of The Times for the year 1877.

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 discoveryor to attempt to penetrate Alban 's motives by means of pure guesswork,

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 Museumturned her pillow to get at the cool side of itand

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 sidethinking again and again of the interview with Alban which had

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

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

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

No discovery rewarded her. She tried September, nextwith 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

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,

On the evening of Sunday, September 30th, 1877, two gentlemen presented themselves at Mr. Rook's house,

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 goodlooking. His companion, older,

taller, and darkerand a finer man altogetherleaned on his arm and seemed to be exhausted. In every

respect they were singularly unlike each other. The younger stranger (excepting little halfwhiskers) was

clean shaved. The elder wore his whole beard. Not knowing their names, the landlord distinguished them, at

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 roadsideso far as he could judge, in a swoon. Having a flask with brandy in it,

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

The fair gentleman, seeing the signs of bad weather, desired to remain in Mr. Rook's house for the night, and

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 carriageeven 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 HandinHand 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 stationa distance of between five and six milesin 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

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,

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 lumberroom. There was an old trucklebed 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

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 trucklebed. 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 toiletcontained in a leather roll, and including a razorready 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

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

At this point in his evidence, the witness's recollections appeared to overpow er him. "Give me a moment,

gentlemen," he said to the jury. "I have had a dreadful fright; and I don't believe I shall get over it for the rest

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 beddead, with a frightful wound in his

"It was wide open, sir. When I was able to look round me, the other travelerI mean the man with the fair

"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 constablewho lived near to uswhile I ran for the doctor, whose house was at

the other end of our village. The doctor sent his groom, on horseback, to the policeoffice in the town. When

I returned to the inn, the constable was thereand he and the police took the matter into their own hands."

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 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 razoror 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 bloodstained razor.

The yard was the next place inspected. Footsteps 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

The doctor being called, described a personal peculiarity, which he had noticed at the postmortem

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

Before retiring to rest, the two gentlemen had paid the billintending 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

banknote. 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. Rookher 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 banknotes

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 fellowtraveler 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 backdon't

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 employerseminent manufacturers at Sheffield and

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., Postoffice, 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

The inquiry being, so far, at an end, the inquest was adjournedon the chance of obtaining additional

Consulting a later number of the newspaper Emily discovered that the deceased person had been identified by

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 tomorrow 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 toilettable 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 bedlooked at him furiouslyabused him for daring to enter the

roomand shouted to him to "get out." The witness, not accustomed to be treated in that way, felt naturally

indignant, and at once withdrewbut 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 seenonce in the evening,

and again the next morningat 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,

Before returning to London, the witness produced references which gave him an excellent character. He also

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 crimeextracted from the columns of the South

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

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

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 HandinHand inn appeared in the public

Emily closed the volume which she had been consulting, and thankfully acknowledged the services of the

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

The librarian smiledamused 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 stilland had associated Emily with the fateful gloom of tragedy, in place of the brighter

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 strangerbecause she loved

and trusted the person whose shortsighted 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 mistressthat 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?

Yesif the life of earth is a foretaste of the life of hell. Noif a lie is a lie, be the merciful motive for the

falsehood what it may. Noif all deceit contains in it the seed of retribution, to be ripened inexorably in the

The servant received Emily, on her return from the library, with a sly smile. "Here he is again, miss, waiting

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,

"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

"Certainly! Can you guess how I have been employed for the last two days? Nonot even your ingenuity

can do that. I have been hard at work, in another readingroom, consulting the same back numbers of the

same newspaper, which you have been examining at the British Museum. There is my confessionand now

She moved to the fireplace, to ring the bell, and failed to see the effect produced on Alban by those

lightlyuttered 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

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 possibleand let us have the

In this state of agitation, he was unreasonably irritated by that playful question. "There is one thing I like

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 explanationand, 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 Cityand I wrote to him to help me. I don't consider that my time has

Alban's astonishment, when he heard this, forced its way to expression in words. "What can you possibly

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

"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 timeand, besides, I had been upset, only the night before, by what Miss Jethro said to me."

"Nothing at all," Emily answered. "She spoke to me of her own private affairs. A long storyand 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 struckas I wasby 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

"I see that you have arrived at a remarkable change of opinion, since we spoke of the subject in the garden at

"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!"

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

"Isn't the imprudence of writing to such a person as Mrs. Rook plain enough to speak for itself?" he suggested

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

"I object," Alban answered, "because Mrs. Rook is a coarse presuming woman. She may pervert your letter to

"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

"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 wrongbut 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 viewso courteously and

considerately urgedwas beginning to try her temper. "In plain words," she rejoined, "I am to believe that

There was a ring at the door of the cottage while she was speaking. But she was too warmly interested in

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

"Oh if wisdom comes with age," she smartly reminded him, "your friend Miss Redwood is old enough to be

your motherand she suspected Mrs. Rook of murder, because the poor woman looked at a door, and

Alban's manner changed: he shrank from that chance allusion to doubts and fears which he dare not

She looked at him with a saucy smile. "Have I driven you into a corner at last? And is that your way of

Even his endurance failed. "Are you trying to provoke me?" he asked. "Are you no better than other women?

"Emily?" She repeated the name in a tone of surprise, which reminded him that he had addressed her with

familiarity at a most inappropriate timethe time when they were on the point of a quarrel. He felt the

"I think of EmilyI love Emilymy one hope is that Emily may love me. Oh, my dear, is there no excuse if

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!"

"As you please," she answered. "Whether you go, Mr. Morris, or whether you stay, I shall write to Mrs.

The ring at the bell was followed by the appearance of a visitor. Doctor Allday opened the door, just in time

"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 serviceshe 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

"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 livinghe hates Mrs. Rook. Would you

like to be introduced to him? You're a philosopher; you may do him some good. Doctor AlldayMr. Alban

The doctor recognized the man, with the felt hat and the objectionable beard, whose personal appearance had

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.

The exchange of polite conventionalities having been accomplished, Alban approache d Emily to take his

leave, with mingled feelings of regret and anxietyregret for having allowed himself to speak harshly;

"Will you forgive me for differing from you?" It was all he could venture to say, in the presence of a stranger.

The doctor, hearing what passed between them, frowned. On what subject had they been differing? And what

Alban gave it up. He took her hand gently. "Shall I see you at the Museum, tomorrow?" he asked.

She was politely indifferent to the last. "Yesunless 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

For a moment after Alban's departure, the doctor stood irresolute. Arriving suddenly at a decision, he

"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

"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 deathbedor 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 didor decline

"In consequence of her behavior to your aunt, to be sure! No: I have said all I wanted to sayand I have no

Sociallyspeaking, doctors try the patience of their nearest and dearest friends, in this respectthey 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,"

Some of the sharp things she had said to him, subjected to afterreflection 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 manespecially 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

If Alban had returned at that moment, resolved on a reconciliationif 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

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 watchwhen he heard rapid

"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

generalunless they are my patientsare not objects of interest to me. But that girl at the cottageI

daresay I am in my dotageI 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

"You don't trust me? Well, I have promised to set the example. Keep your mask on, sirmine is off, come

Alban would hear no more. "Whatever you may say, Doctor Allday, is trusted to my honor. If you doubt my

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

"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

"Speaking in the vulgar tone," he said, "you seem to be in a hurry to wash your hands of Miss Jethro."

"Don't be too sure of that, my friend. I have something to tell you which may alter your opinion. That

exteacher at the school, sir, knows how the late Mr. Brown met his death, and how his daughter has been

Alban listened with surpriseand 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

"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 viewand 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

"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

"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 associationin the past or in the futurewith the woman

whom I believe to have been concerned in her father's death. As I have already told you, she is innocently

"Yes, yes," said the doctor; "she means to write to Mrs. Rookand 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

"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

"In the old story, my dear sir, Mentor sometimes surprised Telemachus. I am Mentorwithout being, I hope,

quite so longwinded 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

In that fond persuasion they now partedtoo 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 truthwhen 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

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.

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

If he had been less absorbed in his own interests, he might have remembered that mere gossip is not always to

"You're surprised to see me, of course?" Saluting Emily in those terms, Francine looked round the parlor with

"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 youI mean because I can't resist youno! I mean because I

hate myself for liking you. Oh, never mind my reasons. I insisted on going to London with Miss

Laddwhen 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

"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?"

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 anythingexcept making one learn one's lessons."

"Worse, my sweet friendworse. 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 heartthere I

"Yesproud 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. Mirabelyou

"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 admiredhair 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 himor 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 momentI wonder whether I can

"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?

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."

Francine refused to explain until she got an answer to her question. "Tell me first," she said, "is Mrs.

"Is she sober, honest, middleaged, clean, steady, goodtempered, industrious?" Francine rattled on. "Has

she all the virtues, and none of the vices? Is she not too goodlooking, and has she no male followers? In one

"How stupid you are, Emily! Do put the woman's card down on the table, and listen to me. Haven't I told you

that one of my masters has declined to have anything more to do with me? Doesn't that help you to

understand how I get on with the rest of them? I am no longer Miss Ladd's pupil, my dear. Thanks to my

laziness and my temper, I am to he raised to the dignity of 'a parlor boarder.' In other words, I am to be a

young lady who patronizes the school; with a room of my own, and a servant of my own. All pr ovided for by

a private arrangement between my father and Miss Ladd, before I left the West Indies. My mother was at the

Francine considered a little. "Perhaps they were fond of you at home," she suggested.

"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

failureor she will be returned on our hands like a bad shilling.' There is my mother, my anxious,

"Oh, no; I won't forget it. My cat is my kitten's motherthere! 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 discretionan 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

"Good heavens, it's a lifetime! Why isn't this amazing creature living with you, now your aunt is dead? Did

"In plain English, you won't tell me? I am all on fire with curiosityand 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.

"Wait a little, and you will see. Bytheby, 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 schoolfriend. "And not forgetting Cecilia," she resumed, "I know

"Cecilia's a fool," Francine remarked gravely; "but now I think of it, she may be worth cultivating. Her father

is a member of Parliamentand 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 fatherin the autumn, you know, when the

"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 issome 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

Emily waited, without taking any notice of this suggestion. The servant announced that "the person had called

"The person doesn't wish to intrude, miss; it will be quite sufficient if you will send a message by me."

"Come in, Mrs. Ellmother," she said. "You have been too long away already. Pray come in."

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 saidwith hardly a vestige left of her former firmness of voice

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."

The eyes of the two women metone, near the end of her life, concealing under a rugged surface a nature

sensitively affectionate and incorruptibly true: the other, young in years, with out the virtues of youth, hard in

manner and hard at heart. In silence on either side, they stood face to face; strangers brought together by the

Emily introduced Mrs. Ellmother to Francine. "It may be worth your while," she hinted, "to hear what this

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

Emily at once assured Mrs. Ellmother that the request was granted. "But is it wise," she asked, "to go out to

"I have been used to service all my life, Miss Emilythat's one reason. And service may help me to get rid

of my own thoughtsthat's another. If you can find me a situation somewhere, you will be doing me a good

"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."

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

"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

"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

catlike patience, stealthily feeling its way to its end, jarred on her nerves. "Yes," she said; "in justice to you,

M rs. Ellmother addressed Francine. "You know, miss, that I served my late mistress for over twentyfive

years. Will you please remember thatand 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 fiveandtwenty years with your mistressand then suddenly leave herand 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

She recovered some of her old firmness, when she made that reply. Francine saw the necessity of

yieldingfor 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

"I won't dwell on what appears to be a painful subject, "Francine graciously resumed. "I meant no offense.

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 holidaytime! 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

"I ought to tell you," Francine insisted, "that I am very particular about my hair."

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 personsI 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

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

"No, no, only just. I ought to tell you there's one thing Miss Ladd is strict aboutsweethearts. 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.

"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

"And still less," Francine proceeded, without noticing the interruption"still less through any disagreeable

Mrs. Ellmother saw the trap that had been set for her. "It won't do, miss," she said.

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

"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 thinnerdon't

"You may call it what you like, miss. I have good reason to think as I do. I was married on a Fridayand 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

"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

"Take a pinch between my finger and thumb, and throw it over my left shoulder," Mrs. Ellmother answered

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 negotiationwith the one kind purpose of protecting Mrs. Ellmother against the

"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. Goodby,

Emily went back to the parlor. The only resource left was to plead with Francine for mercy to Mrs.

Emily persisted. "Don't worry the poor old soul! However strangely she may have left my aunt and me her

motives are kind and goodI am sure of that. Will you let her keep her harmless little secret?"

"Does that meanno luncheon until I have owned the truth? Suppose you own the truth? I won't tell Mrs.

"For the last time, FrancineI know no more of it than you do. If you persist in taking your own view, you

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

"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 memy turn next. I mean to get the better of her; and I shall succeed."

"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

"More, my clever friend, than you are likely to guess. In the meantime, don't forget the duties of hospitality.

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 warmhearted 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 tomorrow." She added in a whisper, "Otherwise, I shall think you include me in your dislike of

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 kindlybut 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

"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

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 tomorrow," 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

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 goodbyoh, 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 Augustand he has

promised to have the house full of delightful people to meet you. Who do you think will be one of our guests?

"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 preacherwe will both fall in love with him

"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

"I have come to a distinct understanding with Papa that we are to have dances every eveningexcept 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 dinnerand, to crown all, your room next to mine, for delightful midnight gossipings, when we

"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 muchher sensibility is all stomach.' There's a wretch for you. What a shameful

advantage to take of sitting opposite to me at dinner! Goodby, my love, till we meet soon, and are as happy

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 Doriswho 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

"Another patient waiting?" Emily asked mischievously. "No time to spare, again?"

"Not a moment," the old gentleman answered. "Have you heard from Mrs. Ellmother?"

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 directlybe 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."

"Oh, my dear, write to Mrs. Rook! I beg and entreat of you, write to Mrs. Rook!"

Ignoring the doctor's little outbreak of humor, she waited in grave surprise, until it was his pleasure to explain

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.

"Hatred of meanness!" Emily answered indignantly. "I despise a man who plots, behind my back, to get

"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,"

"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 gratifyingvery

Emily's sense of humor was not the uppermost sense in her at that moment. She pointed with a peremptory

The doctor had so little to say about it that he was able to express himself in one word:

He took his hatnodded kindly to Emilyand hurried away to feverish pulses waiting to be felt, and to

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

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

"You have written to me so kindly," Alban reminded her; "you have referred to our difference of opinion, the

"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 yoursa friend who had something

"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

Alban understood: he looked at her in despair. "Is that wretched woman doomed to set us at variance every

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

"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

themall further inquiries, no matter in what directionare 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 Alldayagainst 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?"

"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.

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

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

It was not an easy question to answerwithout 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

"In little more than a fortnight," he continued, "I shall return to my classesthey will be dreary classes,

Emily was at a loss to account for the depression in his looks and tones, while he was making these

"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

"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"

"No, no! I only meanif I can be of any service. In that case, will you write to me?"

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

"Your fault? oh, don't think that! I have my dull days and my bright daysand 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 expressionand held out his hand to bid her goodby.

"My memory of what you said in the garden is better than yours," she reminded him. "You said 'Happen what

He sigheddrew her to him gentlyand 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.

Francine happened to be alone in the drawingroom. Her first proceeding, when Emily was shown in, was to

"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

Ceciliadirecting 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

friendsand, 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 bedchamber, Emily was next introduced to the room occupied by Francine.

One object that she noticed in it caused her some little surprisenot unmingled with disgust. She discovered

on the toilettable a coarsely caricatured portrait of Mrs. Ellmother. It was a sketch in pencilwretchedly

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 scornfullycrumpled the drawing up in her handand

"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 drawingand got tired of it. I tried modeling in waxand got tired of it.

"Yesa 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

playall the accomplishments thrown away on a slave! When her owner died, my uncle bought her at the

"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 halfblood, 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

"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 halfbloods supposed, by some enemy among the blacks. She said herself, she

Francine was not interested enough in the subject to explain. "Stupid superstition, my dear. The negro side of

Sappho was uppermost when she was dyingthere 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.

Francineostentatiously resolved to take no personal part in the affairwent for a walk. Emily waited to

After a long interval, Miss Ladd returned to the drawingroom, and announced that she had sanctioned the

"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

"On the day after we return to the school," Miss Ladd replied. "You will be glad to see her, I am sure. I will

"My dear child, a woman who has been fiveandtwenty 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 halvesespecially 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 notand 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."

Mrs. Ellmother promised, and hastened away. Emily looked after her from the window, as long as she was in

It was not in Emily's nature to shrink from a plain reply. She completed her halfformed thought without a

"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

The house inhabited by Miss Ladd and her pupils had been built, in the early part of the present century, by a

wealthy merchantproud of his money, and eager to distinguish himself as the owner of the largest country

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 propertynot even a parkwas 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 reopening of the school, Francine was offered her choice between two rooms on one of the upper stories,

Her sittingroom and bedroom, situated at the back of the house, communicated with each other. The

sittingroom, 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 lightcolored 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."

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' hallnot (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

In the evening, on that first day of renewed studieswhile the girls were in the grounds, after teaFrancine

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 drawingmaster, who had torn up his view of the village, after

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

musicmaster, or as ugly as the dancingmaster. 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

"Do you remember how rude you were to me, on the day when you were sketching in the summerhouse?"

Francine asked with snappish playfulness. "I expect you to make yourself agreeable this timeI am going to

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

He seemed to be unwilling to accept the invitationthen 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, andif he saw the necessityof warning Emily not to

"Very pretty," he remarked, looking round the roomwithout appearing to care for anything in it, except the

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!"

"Come and sit down by me." She made room for him on the sofa. Her one favorite aspirationthe longing to

excite envy in othersexpressed itself in her next words. "Say something pretty," she answered; "say you

"It wouldn't dofrom 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 itI know you feel

it." She assisted this expression of sympathy to produce the right effect by a sigh. "What would I not give to

inspire such devotion as yours! I don't envy Emily; I only wish" She pau sed in confusion, and opened her

fan. "Isn't it pretty?" she said, with an ostentatious appearance of changing the subject. Alban behaved like a

"I think this is the hottest day we have had," he said; "no wonder you want your fan. Netherwoods is an

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,

"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 herebut, 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

"No. They slept badlylost appetitestarted at trifling noises. In short, their nerves were out of order."

"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

"I know where one of them lived. She was the best pupil I ever hadand I remember she lived in

Yorkshire." He was so weary of the idle curiosityas it appeared to himwhich persisted in asking trifling

questions, that he left his seat, and crossed the room. "May I look at your books?" he repeated.

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 bookcase, he made the first excuse that

"I must beg you to let me return to my duties, Miss de Sor. I have to correct the young ladies' drawings,

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 classesbut 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 alsoin 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

It was not much to say, when he spoke at lastbut 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

Her eyes expressed the readiest submissionin that case. He entirely failed to see it: he said they were Miss

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

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

In themselves, these were trifling recollections. But they assumed a certain importance, derived from the

They reminded Francine, by some mental process which she was at a loss to trace, of Sappho the slave, and

She struck a light, and unlocked her writing desk. From one of the drawers she took out an old household

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 perseveredand 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

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

"I entreat my kind and dear young mistress not to suppose that I believe in witchcraftafter 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

"Let me be careful, however, to avoid leading you into a mistake. It is really true that the manslave I spoke

of did pine and die, after the spell had been cast on him by my witchmother'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

"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 coastin which the unfortunate slave had been accustomed to live. The overseer wouldn't

believe him when he said the valley air would be his deathand the negroes, who might otherwise have

"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

Francine closed the book, and locked it up again in her desk. "Now I know," she said to herself, "what

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 houseservants to make inquiries. Before she could decide, Mrs.

"It's the first time I have overslept myself, miss, since I was a girl. Please to excuse me, it shan't happen

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

"I won't have anything to do with themif that's what you mean by my opinion," Mrs. Ellmother answered

"The same as yesterday. Have you seen anything of Miss Emily? She went back to London the day after you

"I haven't been in London. I'm thankful to say my lodgings are let to a good tenant."

"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.

"Lord help you! As little like this as chalk is to cheese. A fine big moor, miss, in Cumberland, without a tree

in sightlook where you may. Something like a wind, I can tell you, when it takes to blowing there."

"Not I! When I left the North, my new mistress took me to Canada. Talk about air! If there was anything in it,

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

Francine (as usual) persisted. "Was your next place in service with Miss Emily's aunt?"

Even Francine could insist no longer: Mrs. Ellmother's reserve had beaten herfor that day at least. "Go into

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

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.

Her next proceeding was to open her writingdesk, and look into the old accountbook 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 schoolgirls had felt itespecially that one

Weary of solitary thinking on one subject, Francine returned to the terrace with a vague idea of finding

something to amuse herthat is to say, something she could turn into ridiculeif she joined the girls.

The next morning, Mrs. Ellmother answered her mistress's bell without delay. "You have slept better, this

"No, miss. When I did get to sleep I was troubled by dreams. Another bad nightand no mistake!"

"You talked, when I met you at Miss Emily's, of wanting to get away from your own thoughts. Has the

Mrs. Ellmother held up her forefinger, and shook it with a gesture of reproof. "I thought we agreed, miss, that

A week passed. During an interval in the labors of the school, Miss Ladd knocked at the door of Francine's

"I want to speak to you, my dear, about Mrs. Ellmother. Have you noticed that she doesn't seem to be in good

"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

Francine hesitatedand made an excuse. "I think she would be much more likely, Miss Ladd, to listen to

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

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

"The doctor! Do you think I'm going to begin taking physic, at my time of life? Lord, ma'am! you amuse

meyou 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 saidand

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 deskand hesitated. She took a sheet of notepaperand paused, as if

still in doubt. She snatched up her pen, with a sudden recovery of resolutionand addressed these lines to

"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 waxsufficient for the product ion of a small

A week later, Alban Morris happened to be in Miss Ladd's study, with a report to make on the subject of his

drawingclass. Mrs. Ellmother interrupted them for a moment. She entered the room to return a book which

Miss Ladd turned to Alban, and shook her head with an air of goodhumored reproof. "I know who has been

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

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

Mrs. Ellmother's irritable objection to being told (even indirectly) that she looked ill, expressed itself roughly

in reply. "I daresay you mean well, sirbut I don't see how it matters to you whether the place agrees with

"Wait a minute," Alban answered goodhumoredly. "I am not quite a stranger to you."

"Yes, I do. I respect and admire Miss Emily; and I have tried, in my poor way, to be of some little service to

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 bornand I don't like to be told, in my old age, that a

Alban accepted this apology in a manner which at once won the heart of the Northcountrywoman. 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.

"Please to shake hands again!" She said ittook his hand with a sudden grip that spoke for itself and

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 nightunder circumstances which he remembered to the end of his

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

flowerbeds 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

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

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 paintersthe 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

She hurried down to the lawn, staggering as she ranstopped, and looked back at the househastened

onward toward the treesstopped again, looking backward and forward, uncertain which way to turn

nextand then advanced once more. He could now hear her heavily gasping for breath. As she came nearer,

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 today?"

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 armstarting 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

Alban led her to one of the garden chairs. "You're only a little frightened," he said. "Rest, and compose

She looked over her shoulder toward the house. "Not here! I've run away from a shedevil; I want to be out

of sight. Further away, MisterI don't know your name. Tell me your name; I won't trust you, unless you tell

"You won't trust your friend, and Emily's friend? You don't mean that, I'm sure. Call me by my other

"Morris?" she repeated. "Ah, I've heard of people called 'Morris.' Look back! Your eyes are youngdo you

With one hand he raised her as he spokeand 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

"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 today? You good Morris, she saw usshe 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

"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

hershe is coming to meet you hereyou know she doesn�t like tobaccosmoke. Are you two going to put

She started to her feet. It occurred to Alban that the speediest way of pacifying her might be by means of the

pipe. Mere words would exercise no persuasive influence over that bewildered mind. Insta nt action, of some

kind, would be far more likely to have the right effect. He put his pipe and his tobacco pouch into her hands,

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

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 darknessalong with a good man like you. Give me a word of advice. You are my friend

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

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

As he returned to the place that he had left, the silence was broken by the chimes of the distant church clock,

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 againopened his matchbox to relight his

pipeand 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

"Quite sure. Now tell me, did you really mean it, when you said just now that you wanted my advice?"

"I am ready and willing to help youbut I can't do it unless I know first what has passed between you and

Alban took Mrs. Ellmother at her word. "I am going to venture on a guess," he said. "You have been with

"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 needleworkand 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 tonight! 'Sit

down,' she says; 'I've nothing to read, and I hate work; let's have a little chat.' She's got a glib tongue of her

own. All I could do was to say a word now and then to keep her going. She talked and talked till it was time

to light the lamp. She was particular in telling me to put the shade over it. We were half in the dark, and half

in the light. She trapped me (Lord knows how!) into talking about foreign parts; I mean the place she lived in

before they sent her to England. Have you heard that she comes from the West lndies?"

"Wait a bit, sir. There's something, by your leave, that I want to know. Do you believe in Witchcraft?"

"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

roundgentlefolks 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

"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

"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.

"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 blacka 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 islandan 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

"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

Therein the full frenzy of the agitation that possessed herthere, Mrs. Ellmother suddenly stopped.

Alban's first impression was that she might have fainted. He looked closer, and could just see her shadowy

"Do you think you can put me off," he rejoined sternly, "with such an excuse as that? What did Miss de Sor

In the days of her health and strength, she would have set him at defiance. All she could do now was to

"Make some allowance for me," she said. "I have been terribly upset. What has become of my courage? What

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

She made a last effort to plead with him. "Oh sir, is this behaving like the good kind man I thought you were?

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

"I understand you at last," he said. "What Miss Emily must never knowis 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

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!"

"Listen to me. In Emily's interests, listen to me. I have read of the murder at Zeeland"

"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

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

"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

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 tobaccosmoke 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 inmates of Netherwoods rose early, and went to bed early. When Alban and Mrs. Ellmother arrived at the

The only light visible, along the whole length of the building, glimmered through the Venetian blind of the

windowentrance to Francine's sittingroom. 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

One person was still out of bedand 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

Mrs. Ellmother moved, so that the light of the lamp in Miss Ladd's hand fell on her face. "I am faint and

Miss Ladd instantly followed her. "Pray forgive me! I didn't see you were ill, when I spoke," she gently

"Thank you kindly, ma'am. I want nothing but peace and quiet. I wish you goodnight."

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

"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."

"I am sorry to say I frightened herwhile we were talking in my roomquite 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 roomfor 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 nextwith 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 explanationand remembering that she was

in Alban's presenceFrancine 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

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

" 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,

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

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

"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

"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

"Suppose you follow Tom's example?" Alban suggested. "Enjoy today (in that comfortable chair) and let

Tomorrow arrived, and justified Alban's system of philosophy. Emily answered Miss Ladd's letter, to

"I leave London today 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

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 goodby 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 today she has made kind inquiries after your

health. Come! come! don't bear malicewish her goodby." Mrs. Ellmother's answer was characteristic. "I'll

Her last words were addressed to Alban. "If you can find a way of doing it, sir, keep those two apart."

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,

falseto 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 waywithout 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

He was too deeply preoccupied to notice that he had advanced perilously near Francine's window. She

"Do you happen to know, Mr. Morris, why Mrs. Ellmother has gone away without bidding me goodby?"

"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?"

"That is not what I mean. You seem to have taken a dislike to me. I should be glad to know why."

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

"It means, Miss de Sor, that I am the drawingmaster 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 selfesteem had been alike gratifiedshe 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 Francinestill

influenced by the magnetic attraction which drew her to Emilydid 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 daymay I add, my dear,

The pupils of the drawingclass put away their pencils and colorboxes 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 Emilywhile 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

One of the servants addressed him as he was leaving the schoolroom. The landlady's boy was waiting in the

"The lady wants you, sir." With this mysterious answer, the boy presented a visiting card. The name inscribed

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 handliterally 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

She rose and bowed with the same grace of movement, and the same wellbred composure of manner, which

Doctor Allday had noticed when she entered his consultingroom. 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

"I cannot conceal from myself," she began, "that I am intruding on you under embarrassing circumstances."

"You forget, Mr. Morris, that I left Miss Ladd's school, in a manner which justified doubt of me in the minds

"Speaking as one of those strangers," Alban replied, "I cannot feel that I had any right to form an opinion, on

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

Stating her purpose in calling on him in those plain terms, she added to the amazement which Alban already

felt, by handing to himas if she was presenting an introductiona letter marked, "Private," addressed to

"I may tell you," she premised, "that I had no idea of troubling you, until Doctor Allday suggested it. I wrote

The letter was dated, "Penzance"; and the doctor wrote, as he spoke, without ceremony.

"MADAMYour 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

"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

Arrived at that point, Alban offered to return the letter. "Do you really mean me to go on reading it?" he

"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 interestssupposing them to be really depending on any interference of yours. Miss

Ladd's drawingmaster, 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 himwith this possible advantage, that he may believe

Miss Jethro pointed to the words, "Mr. Alban Morris is even more devoted to Miss Emily�s service than I

"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

timeI shall not attempt to defend myself. I leave you to decide whether the woman who has shown you that

letterhaving something important to say to youis a person who is mean enough to say it under false

"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

"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 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

Alban listenedat a loss to know what interest he was supposed to have in being made acquainted with Mr.

"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 wayif there is

any influence which you can exert, without exciting suspicion of your motiveprevent her, I entreat you,

from accepting Miss Wyvil's invitation, until Mr. Mirabel's visit has come to an end."

"And yet you expect me to prevent them from meeting! Be reasonable, Miss Jethro."

"I can only be in earnest, Mr. Morrismore 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

Miss Jethro attempted to riseand dropped back into her chair. "Water!" she said faintly. After drinking

from the glass to the last drop, she began to revive. Her little travelingbag 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 placeby the first train that

"Quite useless! You have said it yourselfthe time for interference has gone by. Look at the guide."

Alban found the place. The train was due in ten minutes. "Surely you are not fit to travel so soon?" he

"Fit or not, I must see Mr. MirabelI must make the effort to keep them apart by appealing to him."

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),

The windows of the long drawingroom at Monksmoor are all thrown open to the conservatory. Distant

masses of plants and flowers, mingled in evervarying 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 heardand, sometimes, the

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

Miss Plym (from the rectory) is fat and fair and prosperous: she overflows with good spirits; she has a waist

which defies tightlacing, 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 fadedpoor soul. Destiny has made

it her hard lot in life to fill the place of headnursemaid 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 holidaymaking at the pleasant country house.

Tenderhearted 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 strawcolored 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 cardtable in

another room. They are both men. One of them is drowsy and middleagedhappy in the possession of

large landed property: happier still in a capacity for drinking Mr. Wyvil's famous portwine without gouty

The other gentlemanah, who is the other? He is the confidential adviser and bosom friend of every young

There he sits enthroned, with room for a fair admirer on either side of himthe 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 Plymwhile the other clasps the

rigid silken waist of Francine. "I do it everywhere else," he says innocently, "why not here?" Why not

indeedwith 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 societyand 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 Emilynot in money, not even in gloves, only in flowersthat he will

make Miss Darnaway laugh; and he has won the wager. Emily's flowers are in his buttonhole, 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 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

"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 beshall 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

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 placeand has her waist taken in charge as a matter of course.

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 domesticsuch a perfect clergyman's

daughter. You love her, don't you? Is she engaged to be married? In that casebetween ourselves, dear Miss

Delicious titillations of flattered selfesteem 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

At that moment of embarrassment, a friend leaves the dance, and helps Cecilia out of the difficulty.

Emily approaches the sofathrone, breathlessfollowed 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

It becomes, for the first time, an irresolute arm. It advances a littleand 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 readywitted man of

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 Sorand 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

"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 necessitythat is to say, in a case of

"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

waltzesnot I. I can't look at those whirling couples there, with a steady head. Even the exquisite figure of

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

The ladies' friend gently remonstrates. "Miss Wyvil's beauty dazzles me. How can I give an unbiased

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 girlthe 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

complimentwho 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

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

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

Emily rises neverthelessready to avail herself of the first excuse for leaving him. Francine meets her half

"Suppose you leave off flirting with Mr. Mirabel, and make yourself of some use."

She points disdainfully to innocent Miss Plym. The rector's daughter possesses all the virtues, with one

exceptionthe virtue of having an ear for music. When she sings, she is out of tune; and, when she plays,

"Who can dance to such music as that?" says Francine. "Finish the waltz for her."

"Do you think I should have got up, when you beckoned to me," Emily rejoins, "if I had not wanted to get

Instead of resenting this sharp retort, Francine suddenly breaks into good humor. "Come along, you little

She leads Emily to the piano, and stops Miss Plym without a word of apology: "It's your turn to dance now.

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

The next morning, Mr. Mirabel took two members of the circle at Monksmoor by surprise. One of them was

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

Emily's look of astonishment answered for her before she could speak. "What can I have said or done," she

"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 makebut 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

He laughed with the readiest appreciation of the satirealthough 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 actingwithout the scenery and

the costumes. Did you really mean it, last night, when you said you would like to hear me preach?"

"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 Biblein 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 beerI haven't got

"I am delighted to hear it. (More of my indiscretion!) Our poverty is another bond between us."

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 viewand it had been successfully

accomplished. At the breakfasttable that morning, the companionable clergyman was more amusing than

The meal being over, the company dispersed as usualwith 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

"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

"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 carefulovercareful, as he

thoughtof intruding on him in his hours of practice. And, sad to say, his daughters and his friends were,

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 Artsof 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 singlehearted resolution to devote their lives to an intellectual

pursuitbeing 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 instrumentand, for twenty years past, it had been the pride and delight

"I am sure I must be tiring you," he said politelyafter 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 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

In the necessary explanation that followed, Emily's isolated position in the world was revealed in few words.

But one more discoverythe most important of allremained 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

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 strengthenedand 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

Cecilia's maid was charged with a neat little threecornered 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

"DEAREST PAPAI 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

Mr. Wyvil stopped Mirabel, on the point of trying to escape from the music. "A little domestic matter to

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 politicallythat is

to say, when it dealt with foreign complications, or electoral reformshe followed his leader. When the

Legislature acted sociallythat is to say, for the good of the peoplehe 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

Called into council by his daughter and his guest, Mr. Wyvil assisted them by advice which was equally wise

and kindbut which afterward proved, under the perverse influence of circumstances, to be advice that he

The letter to Emily which Cecilia had recommended to her father's consideration, had come from

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

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 drawingmaster 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.

"I suppose I may take it for granted," he said slyly, "that this gentleman really has your interests at heart?

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.

"Do you think it likelyif Mr. Morris had been talking to you instead of writing to youthat he might have

Cecilia had hitherto remained a model of discretion. Seeing Emily hesitate, temptation overcame her. "Not a

Reminded in this way of her influence over Alban, Emily could only make one honest reply. She admitted

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

"You can see Mr. Morris whenever it suits him to come here," Mr. Wyvil replied. "I will write and ask him to

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; andmay 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

"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

"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

"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

"Quite easily! His class doesn't meet on the Saturday halfholiday. He can be here, if he starts early, in time

"Miss Ladd, to be sureif you make a point of it. Write to her, as well as to Mr. Morris."

The letters being writtenand the order having been given to prepare a room for the expected guestEmily

and Cecilia returned to the drawingroom. They found the elders of the party variously engagedthe 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.

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 gentlemanlike resignation, and was rewarded by tender encouragement expressed in a look.

"Do you see that?" Cecilia whispered. "He knows how rich she isI wonder whether he will marry her."

Emily smiled. "I doubt it, while he is in this house," she said. "You are as rich as Francineand don't forget

Cecilia shook her head. "Mr. Mirabel is very nice," she admitted; "but I wouldn't marry him. Would you?"

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

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

Everybody believed in the affairs of the parishwith 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

Emily was playing with one of the dogs; exercising him in the tricks which he had learned. She balanced a

Cecilia, as the mistress of the house, felt it her duty to interfere. "That is a strange remark to make," she

"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 alternativethey must keep out of the way." She looked again at Emily, more pointedly than ever.

"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 himand so, for that

Among the letters of the next morning's delivery, arrived Alban's reply. Emily's anticipations proved to be

correct. The drawingmaster'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

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

"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 meand I believe, in his own secret heart, Alban Morris thinks so too."

"He is so kind and so unwilling to distress me," Emily answered, "that he wouldn't acknowledge it, even if I

In the middle of the week, the course of private life at Monksmoor suffered an interruptiondue to the

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

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

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

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

She held fast by Mirabel, and kept a jealous watch on him. Was it only her fancy? or did she detect a new

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."

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

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 Commonshe 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

Although she made no complaint, he instantly saw that Emily was overcome by the heat. Her lips were white,

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 restoredand 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

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 goodhumored, and especially amiable and attentive to

Emilywho sat opposite to her at the table. "What did you and Mr. Mirabel talk about while you were away

Emily readily adopted Francine's friendly tone. "Would you have talked politics, in my place?" she asked

"In your place, I should have had the most delightful of companions," Francine rejoined; "I wish I had been

Mirabelattentively observing heracknowledged the compliment by a bow, and left Emily to continue the

conversation. In perfect good faith she owned to having led Mirabel to talk of himself. She had heard from

Cecilia that his early life had been devoted to various occupations, and she was interested in knowing how

circumstances had led him into devoting himself to the Church. Francine listened with the outward

appearance of implicit belief, and with the inward conviction that Emily was deliberately deceiving her.

When the little narrative was at an end, she was more agreeable than ever. She admired Emily's dress, and she

rivaled Cecilia in enjoyment of the good things on the table; she entertained Mirabel with humorous

anecdotes of the priests at St. Domingo, and was so interested in the manufacture of violins, ancient and

modern, that Mr. Wyvil promised to show her his famous collection of instruments, after dinner. Her

overflowing amiability included even poor Miss Darnaway and the absent brothers and sisters. She heard

with flattering sympathy, how they had been ill and had got well again; what amusing tricks they played,

what alarming accidents happened to them, a nd how remarkably clever they were"including, I do assure

you, dear Miss de Sor, the baby only ten months old." When the ladies rose to retire, Francine was, socially

While the violins were in course of exhibition, Mirabel found an opportunity of speaking to Emily,

"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

"Of a sort which may expose her to discoveryunless 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 eventsand 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

The day after, an event occurred at Netherwoods. Alban Morris received an anonymous letter, addressed to

"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

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 portwine

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 drawingrooms. 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 themeach firmly

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 counciland I will be secretary." He turned to Cecilia. "The meeting waits to

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 doshall 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

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

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

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

applauseeven 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

"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

Francine exhibited another new side to her charactera 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 Plymthe 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 writingtable, 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

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 Plymwho 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

"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 today, which suggests to my mind that the mischief is done."

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

"The greatest faith. Time is the inveterate enemy of deceit. Sooner or later, every hidden thing is a thing

At that moment Francine stopped and looked back at them. Did she think that Emily and Mirabel had been

talking together long enough? Miss Plymwith the parsley still on her mindadvanced 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 temperI 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 prospectsI have none."

He spoke gravely, conscious of not feeling at ease on his side. If he had been the most modest man that ever

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 Francinesensual 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 nightscapacities 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 homemy 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?"

"Is there anything wrong, Mr. Mirabel, in wishing that I could make you a prosperous man?"

"Oh, I can't bear to think of you in that miserable villagea 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

"She will never embarrass you, Mr. Mirabel, by being as sincere as I am. Emily can keep her own secrets."

Mirabel's mannerstudiously cold and formal thus faraltered on a sudden. He looked with unconcealed

"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 likeI 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 politenessand 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 drawingmaster at a school. At the same time, a person in her

circumstancesI mean she has no moneyought not to be very hard to please. Of course she has never

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

"Here is the lodge," she said gayly"I declare Cecilia has got an apron on already! Come, and cook."

Mirabel left Francine to enter the lodge by herself. His mind was disturbed: he felt the importance of gaining

The keeper's garden was at the back of the lodge. Passing through the wicketgate, he found a little

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 selfdeception now. After what Francine had said to him, this

shallow and frivolous man no longer resisted the allabsorbing 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

As he rose to return to the lodge, the keeper's little terrier, prowling about the garden, looked into the

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 placeand 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

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

Mirabel assumed the mask of cheerfulnesswith the desperate resolution of an actor, amusing his audience

at a time of domestic distress. He astonished the keeper's wife by showin g that he really knew how to use her

fryingpan. Cecilia's omelet was toughbut the young ladies ate it. Emily's mayonnaise sauce was almost as

liquid as waterthey swallowed it nevertheless by the help of spoons. The potatoes followed, crisp and dry

and deliciousand Mirabel became more popular than ever. "He is the only one of us," Cecilia sadly

When they all left the lodge for a stroll in the park, Francine attached herself to Cecilia and Miss Plym. She

resigned Mirabel to Emilyin the happy belief that she had paved the way for a misunderstanding between

The merriment at the luncheon table had revived Emily's good spirits. She had a lighthearted 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,

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

"Although I am sensible of our host's kindness," he answered, "I should have gone back to my

She declined to understand him seriously. "Then the affairs of your parish are neglectedand I am to

"Am I the first man who has neglected his duties for your sake?" he asked. "I wonder whether the masters at

She thought of Albanand 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.

"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 publichouse,' he admitted. 'But that was years agoand (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 listeningbut

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

"Will the affairs of your parish allow you to come back?" Emily asked mischievously.

"An excuse for keeping away from Monksmoorin the interests of my own tranquillity. The experiment has

She still declined to understand him seriously. "Must I tell you in plain words that flattery is thrown away on

"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

As he put the question, Cecilia's voice was heard behind them, calling to Emily. They both turned round. Mr.

"I have some news for you that you little expect," he said. "A telegram has just arrived from Netherwoods.

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 drawingroom,

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 interestit might even be his dutyto go to

Mr. Wyvil's house, and judge for himself. After some last wretched moments of hesitation, he had decided on

effecting a compromise with his own better sense, by consulting Miss Ladd. That excellent lady did exactly

what he had expected her to do. She made arrangements which granted him leave of absence, from the

Saturday to the Tuesday following. The excuse which had served him, in telegraphing to Mr. Wyvil, must

now be repeated, in accounting for his unexpected appearance to Emily. "I found a person to take charge of

my class," be said; "and I gladly availed myself of the opportunity of seeing you again."

After observing him attentively, while he was speaking to her, Emily owned, with her customary frankness,

that she had noticed something in his manner which left her not quite at her ease.

"I wonder," she said, "if there is any foundation for a doubt that has troubled me?" To his unutterable relief,

she at once explained what the doubt was. "I am afraid I offended you, in replying to your letter about Miss

In this case, Alban could enjoy the luxury of speaking unreservedly. He confessed that Emily's letter had

"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

"Very much indeed," she replied, without the slightest embarrassment. "Mr. Mirabel is clever and

agreeableand 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 sensebut 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. Somethinghe was unable to r ealize what it wastold him,

in the moment when they looked at each other, that his suspicion had hit the mark.

In the conservatory the everamiable 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

"Mr. Morris, of course," he answered. "He is the new guestand he turns out to be more than the equal,

sociallyspeaking, of our other friend. When I showed him his room, I asked if he was related to a man who

bore the same namea fellow student of mine, years and years ago, at college. He is my friend's younger

"You are to take Emily today," Cecilia said to him, leading the way out of the conservatory. As they entered

the drawingroom, 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 diningroom." 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,

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

"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?"

Mirabel was not to be beaten, even by a woman, in the art of paying compliments. He looked admiringly at

This flattering suggestion not only pleased Emilyit 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 impressionsproduced while Alban's enemy was ominously silentbegan 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 amusingand 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 wayand was baffled, time after

time, with the readiest ingenuity. If he interruptedthe sweettempered clergyman submitted, and went on.

If he differedmodest 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

So that day ended. Sunday promised to pass quietly, in the absence of Mirabel. The morning cameand it

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

positionwhile he had himself lost groundin 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 breakfastresolved to try the effect of a timely word of

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

"We resemble each other in one particular," she proceeded, graciously; "we both like to breathe the fresh air

He said exactly what common politeness obliged him to say, and no morehe said, "Yes."

"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."

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.

"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 mightwith advantage to yourself, and to interests that are very dear to yoube more

Francine looked at him, with a malignant smile. "One of these days, Mr. MorrisI will deserve your

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

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

"Not even then. Are you content at last? Promise me not to be rude to Mr. Mirabel again."

"Nofor my sake. I don't like to see you place yourself at a disadvantage toward another man; I don't like

The happiness of hearing her say those words transfigured himthe manly beauty of his earlier and happier

years seemed to have returned to Alban. He took her handhe was too agitated to speak.

"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

Her fair cheek was very near to him. The softlyrising color on it said, Answer me hereand he answered.

On Monday, Mirabel made his appearanceand the demon of discord returned with him.

Alban had employed the earlier part of the day in making a sketch in the parkintended as a little present for

Emily. Presenting himself in the drawingroom, when his work was completed, he found Cecilia and

"She is with Mr. Mirabel in the rose garden. I saw them talking togetherevidently feeling the deepest

interest in what they were saying to each other. Don't interrupt themyou will only be in the way."

Cecilia at once protested against this last assertion. "She is trying to make mischief, Mr. Morrisdon'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

"Francine sometimes talks in a very illnatured way," Cecilia gently remarked. "Do you think she means it,

There was a pause. Alban's sense of selfrespect forbade him to try the experiment which Francine had

maliciously suggested. His thoughtsless easy to restrainwandered 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

While he was absorbed in these reflections, Ceciliaembarrassed by the silencewas trying to find a topic

of conversation. Alban roughly pushed his sketchbook 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

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 meand we both consulted my father. Have you spoken to Emily about Miss

As he replied in those terms, Mirabel entered the conservatory from the garden, evidently on his way to the

To see the man, whose introduction to Emily it had been Miss Jethro's mysterious object to preventat the

very moment when he had been speaking of Miss Jethro herselfwas, 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

"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

"We were talking," he said quietly to Mirabel, "of a lady with whom you are acquainted."

Mirabel sustained the shock with extraordinary selfpossessionso far as any betrayal by sudden movement

was concerned. But his color told the truth: it faded to palenessit revealed, even to Cecilia's eyes, a man

Alban offered him a chair. He refused to take it by a gesture. Alban tried an apology next. "I am afraid I have

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

inferencethe inevitable inferencewhich 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

"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 pausedbut 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,

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

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 speakanimated 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

Alban interposed. "Miss Jethro left me," he said, "with the intentionquite openly expressedof trying to

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

Once more, the doubt arose: was he lying? or speaking the truth? And, once more, Alban could not resist the

"There is one thing I should like to know," Mirabel continued, after some hesitation. "Has Miss Emily been

Mirabel seemed to be disposed to continue his inquiriesand 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

"I am forgetting my errand," he said to Alban. "Miss Emily was anxious to know if you had finished your

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

"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 drawingroomwhy didn't you bring him here?"

Mirabel answered absentlywith 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

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

"When I joined Miss Wyvil and Mr. Morris," he began, "what do you think they were doing? They were

Emily dropped the rosecrown 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. Mirabelso 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

Mirabel gratefully kissed her hand. "Your kindness overpowers me," he saidspeaking, for once, with true

Emily immediately returned to the house. As soon as she was out of sight, Francine approached Mirabel,

Miss de Sor began cautiously with an apology. "Excuse me, Mr. Mirabel, for reminding you of my presence."

"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

"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 confidencedo you think

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 Francinemercilessly answered herat last.

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 tomorrow, he removes the only obstacle you have to

"In this way. I don't regard Mr. Morris as an obstacle. Emily is too delicate and too kind to hurt his

feelingsshe 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

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 remorsethe vengeance of a jealous woman. Hysterical anger, furious

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 itwhich fawns and grovels and

deliberately deceives itself, in its own intensely selfish interestswas 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

He was perfectly shameless; he denied that he had seen it, in the most positive manner. "Upon my honor, I

She sighed, and looking at him with an expression of tender reproach. "I wonder whether I can believe you,"

She hesitatedfor the pleasure of hesitating. "I don't know. Emily is very much admired by some men. Why

"For the best of reasons," he answered "She is poor, and I am poor. Those are facts which speak for

"Yesbut Emily is bent on attracting you. She would marry you tomorrow, if you asked her. Don't attempt

"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?"

"She has said nothing to me about herself," he answered. "What I know of her, I know from Mr. Wyvil."

"He said she lost her mother when she was a childand he told me her father had died suddenly, a few years

The person was only one of the servants. Mirabel felt grateful to the man for interrupting them. Animated by

"No, miss." He turned to Mirabel. "Miss Brown wishes to speak to you, sir, if you are not e ngaged."

"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,

He was the meanest of menhe carried out his cowardly submission to the last extremity.

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

Francine gave him a farewell look. Her admiration made a desperate effort to express itself appropriately in

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 shedevil as I have done," he thought. "How shall I explain

Considering this question, he looked by chance at the unfinished crown of roses. "The very thing to help me!"

he saidand 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

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.

The lad gave the necessary directions. Mirabel walked away slowly, with his hands in his pockets. His nerves

In the meanwhile Emily had been true to her promise to relieve Mirabel's anxieties, on the subject of Miss

Jethro. Entering the drawingroom in search of Alban, she found him talking with Cecilia, and heard her own

"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

"You shall judge for yourself," Emily replied with a smile. "Mr. Mirabel has been speaking to me of a

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 sufferingshe 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 meand she has sent a kind message, inviting me to visit her one of these days. Do

"No; she is quite alone. Now, Cecilia, I have told you all I knowand 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,

"We have tried to get Mr. Mirabel to enlighten us, and tried in vain," she said. "You are a favorite. Have you

"I have made no attempt to succeed," Emily replied. "My only object is to relieve Mr. Mirabel's anxiety, if I

"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

"Thank you for the explanation." She turned to Cecilia. "May I send one of the servants with a message? I

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

"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 startledand I took Mr.

Alban would have willingly dropped the subjectbut 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 proceedingand she too

Cecilia made matters worsewith the best intentions. "I'm sure, Mr. Morris, my father was only too glad to

Alban remained silentungraciously 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.

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

"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.

"Speak for yourself, Mr. Morris," Emily answered, resenting the masterful tone which Alban's interference

"Leave me to discover i t!" Emily answered hotly. "Perhaps Mr. Mirabel knows. I shall ask Mr. Mirabel."

"I thought you would find a reason for returning to Mr. Mirabel," Francine remarked.

Before Emily could reply, one of the maids entered the room with a wreath of roses in her hand.

"Mr. Mirabel sends you these flowers, miss," the woman said, addressing Emily. "The boy told me they were

to be taken to your room. I thought it was a mistake, and I have brought them to you here."

Francine, who happened to be nearest to the door, took the roses from the girl on pretense of handing them to

Emily. Her jealous vigilance detected the one visible morsel of Mirabel's letter, twisted up with the flowers.

Had Emily entrapped him into a secret correspondence with her? "A scrap of waste paper among your roses,"

But Emily was too quick for her. She caught Francine by the wrist. "Waste paper or not," she said; "it was

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 dearand I left it in the garden.

Cecilia was delighted. "How lovely it is!" she exclaimed. "And how very kind of you! I'll finish it myself."

"I had no idea I was interfering with a letter," said Francine; watching Emily with fiercelyattentive eyes,

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

"For a purpose which, I am afraid, you won't approve of. I mean to ask Mr. Mirabel if he knows Miss Jethro's

"Are we going to quarrel over Miss Jethro, as we once quarreled over Mrs. Rook?" Emily askedwith the

readiest recovery of her good humor. "Come! come! I am sure you are as anxious, in your own private mind,

"With one differencethat I think of consequences, and you don't." He said it, in his gentlest and kindest

"Never mind the consequences," she called after him, "if we can only get at the truth. I hate being deceived!"

Emily looked round with a start. Alban was out of hearing. It was Francine who had answered her.

After waiting for a moment in silence, Emily moved away toward the door of the drawingroom. Francine

"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 pastcruel deceptionwicked 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.

"I know nothing about her. I care nothing about her. I am not thinking of Miss Jethro."

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 Monksmoorand 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 musicroom, was confronted by

his daughter, hurrying out of Emily's bedchamber in such a state of alarm that she could hardly speak.

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 newsshe told me so herself."

"I don't know how she heard it. I went back to the drawingroom to show her my roses"

"Yes! She frightened meshe seemed quite wild. She said, 'Let me be by myself; I shall have to go home.'

She kissed meand ran up to her room. Oh, I am such a fool! Anybody else would have taken care not to

"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

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

highroadwhile 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 stationand he knew no more.

Mr. Wyvil and Mirabel met again at the house, and instituted an examination of the servants. No further

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.

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 stationmaster

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 Emilyin 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 donebut Cecilia was not satisfied. If her father had permitted it, she

would have followed Emily. Alban comforted her. He apologized to Mr. Wyvil for shortening his visit, and

announced his inten tion of traveling to London by the next train. "We may renew our inquiries to some

advantage," he added, after hearing what had happened in his absence, "if we can find out who was the last

person who saw her, and spoke to her, before your daughter found her alone in the drawingroom. When I

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

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

Alban interfered for the first time. "Did you say anything," he asked, "which agitated or offended Miss

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 himexcept 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

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

readymade sentiment and fluentlypious philosophy. Emily's influence had awakened the only earnest and

Toward evening, the longexpected telegram was received at last. What could be said, under the

Mrs. Ellmotherleft in charge of Emily's place of abode, and feeling sensible of her lonely position from

time to timehad 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 doorand found Emily on the steps.

Without a word of reply, Emily led the way into the bedchamber which had been the scene of Miss Letitia's

"When I came home from school, to nurse my aunt. Ah, you remember now! Is it trueI ask you here,

where your old mistress diedis it true that my aunt deceived me about my father's death? And that you

There was dead silence. Mrs. Ellmother trembled horriblyher lips dropped aparther eyes wandered

round the room with a stare of idiotic terror. "Is it her ghost tells you that?" she whispered. "Where is her

Emily sprang forward to support her. She staggered to a chair, and lifted her great bony hands in wild

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 ityour father

"My father died murdered in the inn at Zeeland! All the long way to London, I have tried to doubt it. Oh, me,

Answering in those words, she looked toward the bed. Harrowing remembrances of her aunt's delirious

selfbetrayal 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 fathermy dear, gentle, loving father;

my first, best, truest friendmurdered! murdered! Oh, God, where was your justice, where was your mercy,

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

"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 selfwilled 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

itthere's no fear of frightening or hurting me now. I want to hear how you found it out. Was it by accident,

Emily's mind was far away from Mrs. Ellmother. She rose from the sofa, with her hands held fast over her

"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 heresit down, my old friend, on the

Mrs. Ellmother recoiled from Emily in dismay. "Don't tell me he had anything to do with it! The kindest of

"The man of all men living who least deserves your good opinion or mine," Emily answered sternly.

"I say it. Hewho won on me to like himhe was in the conspiracy to deceive me; and you know it! He

heard me talk of the newspaper story of the murder of my fatherI say, he heard me talk of it composedly,

talk of it carelessly, in the innocent belief that it was the murder of a strangerand 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

"I won't interrupt you, miss. It's true that I ran away into the garden. I can guess who followed me. How did

"The smell of tobacco guided hershe knew who smokedshe had seen him talking to you, on that very

dayshe followed the scentshe heard what you two said to each otherand she has repeated it to me.

Oh, my old friend, the malice of a revengeful girl has enlightened me, when you, my nurseand he, my

"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 prayedI went down on my knees to herI 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 foreveror 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

"Your godfatherthe great London surgeonhe who was visiting in our house at the time."

"YesSir 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

"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 himthe 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 withdon'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

wasshe reminded me that the misery of your mother's death laid him low with brain fevershe 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 himhow 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 meand have

The poor woman tried to take out her handkerchief; her quivering hand helplessly entangled itself in her

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

The silence was harshly broken by the bell at the cottage door. They both started.

Mrs. Ellmother rose. "Shall I say you can't see anybody?" she asked, before leaving the room.

Emily heard the door openedheard low voices in the passage. There was a momentary interval. Then, Mrs.

Mrs. Ellmother sat by the dying embers of the kitchen fire; thinking over the events of the day in perplexity

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 sofasunk 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 griefperhaps in

angerperhaps forever. Mrs. Ellmother lifted Emily in compassionate silence, and carried her upstairs, and

In the still hours of the night, the thoughts of the faithful old servantdwelling for a while on past and

presentadvanced, 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

The gentlefolks at Monksmoor were strangers to her. Doctor Allday was near at handbut Emily had said,

"Don't send for him; he will torment me with questionsand I want to keep my mind quiet, if I can." But

one person was left, to whose everready kindness Mrs. Ellmother could appealand that person was Miss

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

coldblooded 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

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

"I have come from Mr. Wyvil's house in the country," he said; "and I bring a letter from his daughter. May I

At this reply, the visitor's face revealed such sincere sympathy and regret, that Mrs. Ellmo ther was interested

in him: she added a word more. "My mistress has had a hard trial to bear, sir. I hope there is no bad news for

"On the contrary, there is news that she will be glad to hearMiss Wyvil is coming here this evening. Will

"She won't hear of seeing the doctor, sir. He's a good friend of hersand 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."

Mrs. Ellmother's face brightened. "That's kindly thought of, sirif 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

"There's one thing you must be careful of," Mrs. Ellmother answered. "He mustn't come here, as if he had

Mirabel understood her. "I will not forget to caution him. Kindly tell Miss Emily I calledmy name is

He hastened away on his errandonly 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

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

"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

"There is nothing that need alarm you, ma'ambut there is a great deal to say, before you see Miss Emily.

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.

Miss Ladd read the words: "I have something besides to say to you which cannot be put into a letter." She at

"Does what you have still to tell me refer to any person whom I know?" she said.

"What did I say, when I came in?" Miss Ladd asked. "Speak out plainly; and tryit's not easy, I knowbut

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 Netherwoodsto the atrocious attempt to

frighten her by means of the image of waxto the discovery made by Francine in the garden at nightand

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

"Wrong?" Miss Ladd repeated warmly. "If that wretched girl has no defense to offer, she is a disgrace to my

schooland 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 satisfactionor 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

Mrs. Ellmother led the good lady to Emily's roomand, 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

"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, siryoung 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? Goodbyand thank you. I mustn't stay longer;

"I should indeed! I have something to say to herand time is of importance to me. May I wait in the

"The parlor reminds me of happier days. In time, I may have courage enough to look at the room again. Not

"If she doesn't make it up with that good man," Mrs. Ellmother thought, on her way back to the house, "my

In half an hour more, Miss Ladd joined Alban on the little plot of grass behind the cottage. "I bring Emily's

Alban read it: "Don't suppose you have offended meand 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 medeliberately, cruelly kept medeceived! The remembrance of it burns

me like fire. I cannotoh, 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."

"I know what Emily has written," she said; "and I have told her, what I now tell youshe is wrong; in every

way, wrong. It is the misfortune of her impetuous nature that she rushes to conclusionsand those

conclusions once formed, she holds to them with all the strength of her character. In this matter, she has

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 isthe danger of some headlong action, on her part, in the interval. Who can say what

the end may be, if she persists in her present way of thinking? There is something monstrous, in a young girl

declaring that it is her duty to pursue a murderer, and to bring him to justice! Don't you see it yourself?"

A lban still defended Emily. "It seems to me to be a natural impulse," he said"natural, and noble."

"We won't pursue the subject, Mr. Morris. I am told by Mrs. Ellmother that you have something to say to me.

"I have to ask you," Alban replied, "to let me resign my situation at Netherwoods."

Miss Ladd was not only surprised; she was alsoa very rare thing with herinclined to be suspicious. After

what he had said to Emily, it occurred to her that Alban might be meditating some desperate project, with the

"I have heard of no employment. My mind is not in a state to give the necessary attention to my pupils."

"Will you let me, in all kindness, say something more?" Miss Ladd answered. "I don't intrude on your

Alban returned to Netherwoodsto continue his services, until another master could be found to take his

By a later train Miss Ladd followed him. Emily was too well aware of the importance of the mistress's

presence to the wellbeing 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

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

Mrs. Ellmother at once entered her protest, in her own downright way. "Whatever you do," she said, "don't go

"I am more interested in her than you supposeI happen to know why she left the school."

"She left the school," Emily persisted, "for a serious reason. Miss Ladd discovered that she had used false

"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 herbut I may say it to you. I am afraid I have an idea of who

"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?"

"I can't drop it. It's dreadful to me to have suspicions of my auntand 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 doI 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 herand from

that time she kept her own counsel. What she did, she did in the dark, so far as I was concerned."

"He was not to blamemind 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 manthere's no denying ithe was in love with Miss Jethro!

Emily was thinking of her memorable conversation with the disgraced teacher on her last night at school.

"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

wordsI 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.

From time to time, as she pursued her domestic labors, Mrs. Ellmother thought of Mirabel. Hours on hours

had passedand 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

He looked at Mirabel with an appearance of uneasy curiosity; and he contrived an excuse for altering the

"Ah, very likely I'm wrong! I'll call on Miss Emily, sir, you may depend on it."

Left in his consultingroom, 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

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

"Called on Miss Emily, in great anxiety about the discoveries which she might make among her aunt's papers.

Papers all destroyed, thank Godexcept the Handbill, offering a reward for discovery of the murderer,

which she found in the scrapbook. 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 twentyfive and thirty years. A wellmade 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 halfwhiskers'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 selfevident view

"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!

He was interrupted by the appearance of his patient. Other ailing people followed. Doctor Allday's mind was

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,"

Emily called her back as she was leaving the room. "I want to caution you," she said, "before Miss Wyvil

comes. Don't tell herdon't tell anybodyhow 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

"Bad for your mind, Miss Emilyand bad for your body, as your looks show. I wish you would take counsel

"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

"Nothing, except that you are ill. When he heard that, he proposed to go for the doctor. He will be here again

"I don't know yetI have other things to think of. Bring Miss Wyvil up here when she comes."

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 himtender remembrances oncenow 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 lifea life without a mother, without brothers, without

sistersto 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 viewbooks that might supply her want of experience, and might

reveal the perils which beset the course that lay before herwere 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

windowand still she opened book after book with sinking courageand 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

hidingplace, and had marked him among his harmless fellowcreatures with the brand of Cain? No! A

young girl following, or attempting to follow, that career, must reckon with insult and outragepaying 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

Careful to perform his promise to Mirabel, without delay, the doctor called on Emily early in the

"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."

"Don't joke, Doctor Allday! The state of things here is a great deal too serious for joking. Make up your mind

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 mebe a better friend than ever

"Promise you will keep secret what I am going to say to youand listen, pray listen patiently, till I have

Doctor Allday promised, and listened. He had been, in some degree at least, prepared for a surprisebut 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

"If you happened to meet with the suspected man," he said, "have you any means of identifying him?"

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."

The moment he pronounced the name, he saw that he had touched on some painful association. "Has Mr.

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 regardmistaken

"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 memay I count on your kindness still?"

"May I at least ask," she went on, "if you know anything of persons" She paused, discouraged by the cold

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 nextand saw at once that she had

"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."

"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 schooland in that case Miss Jethro may have found it out." Her eyes, resting on the

He considered a littlewhether he should or should not tell her of the letter addressed by Miss Ladd to Miss

"If I could satisfy you that your fears are well founded," he asked, "would the discovery keep you away from

"Very well. I can tell you positively, that your aunt was the person who turned Miss Jethro out of the school.

"Because I had no reason for letting you know of it, before today. If I have done nothing else, I have at least

Emily looked at him in alarm. He went on without appearing to notice that he had startled her. "I wish to God

"The mad project?" Emily repeated. "Oh, Doctor Allday. Do you cruelly leave me to myself, at the time of all

"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 yieldednot to my poor entreatiesbut to your own better

sense!" His voice faltered; his eyes moistened. "I shall make a fool of myself," he burst out furiously, "if I

She walked to the window, and looked out at the fair morning. No one to feel for herno one to understand

hernothing 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 homicideand 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 designit 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!"

Mrs. Ellmother looked into the parlor. "I told you Mr. Mirabel would call again," she announced. "Here he

Mirabel's embarrassment was visible the moment he entered the room. For the first time in his lifein the

presence of a womanthe popular preacher was shy. He who had taken hundreds of fair hands with

sympathetic pressurehe who had offered fluent consolation, abroad and at home, to beauty in

distresswas conscious of a rising color, and was absolutely at a loss for words when Emily received him.

And yet, though he appeared at disadvantageand, worse still, though he was aware of it himselfthere

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

drawingrooms and boudoirs, into the likeness of a Manand no woman, in Emily's position, could have

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.

"She was here last night; and I expect to see her again today before she returns to Monksmoor with her

The strong feeling that was in him had forced its way to expression at last. In happier dayswhen she had

persistently refused to let him speak to her seriouslyshe would have been ready with a lighthearted 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

"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 wayI

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

Where is the woman who could have resisted such devotion as thisinspired, truly inspired, by herself?

"Don't speak of my kindness until you have put me to the proof," he interposed. "Can a friend (such a friend

"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 LaddMrs. EllmotherDoctor 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

He rosesaying considerately that he would leave her to recover herself, and would wait to hear if he was

"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. Andmay I venture to remind

"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."

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 alarmedhe seemed to be on the point of fainting. She ran to the

"Pray don't trouble yourself," he said, "I am easily agitated by any sudden sensationand I am a little

"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 meI am only a

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 Monksmoorand I

must speak of him again. You could have no interest in inquiring about a strangerand you cannot have

"Wrong!" Mirabel exclaimed, in a tone of courteous surprise. "Was it not a sudden death?"

"Caused by no disease. I have been deceived about my father's deathand I have only discovered it a few

At the impending moment of the frightful shock which she was innocently about to inflict on him, she

stoppeddoubtful 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

"Hear me! hear me! My father died murdered, at Zeelandand the man you must help me to find is the

She started to her feet with a cry of terror. Mirabel dropped from his chair senseless to the floor.

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

"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 fithe dropped on the floor a minute

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

doorthen looked back, with a sudden change of humor. To see the kind young mistress bending over the

feeble little clergyman set herby some strange association of ideasthinking of Alban Morris. "Ah," she

There was wine in the sideboardthe 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

"I only think you should take more care of your health," Emily replied, with sincere interest in his recovery.

He refused to remain at the cottagehe 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

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 nameabsolutely unknown to him when he fled from the innhad 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 Francefar out of the track of English

travelersand he remained on the continent until the summer of eighteen hundred and eightyone. 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

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 unshakenthe 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

interestsperhaps even subversive of his security. To effect this design, he had need of an ally whom he

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.

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

"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

"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

"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 herbut 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 seabeaten 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

"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."

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 twentythird of the month. In four days more the new master would be ready to enter

On the twentyfourth, 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 today, at two o'clock."

"Minutes are precious, Mr. Morris," she said; "you are two minutes late. The next train to London stops here

"Emily is well enough in healthif 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 schooland 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 hoursbut 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?

She presented herself at the counter in the waitingroom. "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

morejust to wash the taste of Mr. Mirabel out of my mouth. Wait a bit; I have something to ask you. How

"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 Emilyand 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 heror pretending to help her, I don't know whichto 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

"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 Mirabelif 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 daythat

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

"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."

"YesI 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 itand I'm a hard

"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 Emilydon't even write to herunless 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 itand 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

"Never mind about that, sir. If you want to do a friendly thing in return, tell me if you know what has become

"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 fingernails on that false face of hers, as sure as I

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 bookingoffice, in a state of sullen

indifferenceabsorbed in herselfnoticing 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

The teacher noticed Alban, on leaving the bookingoffice 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

"We don't know yet. Miss Ladd will write to St. Domingo by the next mail. In the meantime, her father's

agent in Londonthe same person who pays her allowancetakes care of her until he hears from the West

"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

mistressalways hopeful even in the worst cases, as you knowthinks she is feeling ashamed of herself,

and is too proud and selfwilled to own it. My own idea is, that some secret disappointment is weighing on

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 enmityAlban 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 disappointmentsshe

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

feetadvanced to the edge of the platformand 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.

Alban reached London early enough in the afternoon to find the doctor at his luncheon. "Too late to see Mrs.

"A message, my good friend, that you won't like to hear. She is off w ith her mistress, this morning, on a visit

"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

"Now you have got your information," Doctor Allday resumed, "let me have a look at you. You're not in a

"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 schooland my conviction is as strong as ever. Have you seen her, since I

"No, no. I heard enough to warn me to hold my tongue. I refused to help herthat'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

"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 postoffice, 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 oddlymingled expression: partly of

"You will get nothing out of Miss Jethro," the doctor answered, "unless" there he stopped.

After a little reflection, Doctor Allday returned, without any apparent reason, to the subject of his last visit to

"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.

"Don't mistake me! An impression has been produced on my mindthat'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,

"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

"Find out first, my good fellow, whether I am right or wrong. You can do it, if you will run the risk with Miss

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

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

His son succeeded him, and failed to profit by the paternal example: that is to say, he made the fatal mistake

In the rebellion of FortyFive, 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 wifealready in failing healthhad 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 lifewriting poetry in the intervals of pain, and paying the debts of a reverend brother who succeeded

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

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 nowand yet, 'the clink' is not to be heard. Is the moon

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.

"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 loveuntil 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?"

"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 horrorto be the man whom she would hunt to the scaffold, as an act of duty to the memory of her

"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?"

"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

"Don't forget," Mrs. Delvin replied, "that there is a trace to be found of Mrs. Rook, and that Emily expects

Mirabel shuddered. "I am surrounded by dangers, whichever way I look," he said. "Do what I may, it turns

"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. Anddon't

forgetyou have got my money to help you, if you want it. In my belief, Miles, you will want it."

"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

Mirabel was alarmed. "Don't keep me in suspense," he burst out. "Tell me what you propose."

"Never mind what I propose, tonight. 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 tomorrow, 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 meI shall soon hear

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

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

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

"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

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 endand 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 firstand then to form an

"HONORED MISSI 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

"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

livedor 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

"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

Emily handed the letter to Mrs. Ellmother. "Read it," she said, "and tell me what you think."

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

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

The groom, summoned by the bell, was ordered to saddle the third and last horse left in the stables; to take

"How far is it to Redwood Hall?" Emily asked, when the man had received his orders.

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 mistakeif a

mistake it washad however been committed; and, wrong or right, she was not disposed to occupy the

"If you will look at Mrs. Rook's letter again," Emily replied, "you will see that I ought to answer it. She

"Do you propose to tell Mrs. Rook that you are in this house?" Mrs. Delvin asked.

"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.

Rookand that I am. If I speak to her personally, I can do much to assist the object of our inquiries, before

"And therefore," Mrs. Delvin interposed, "the sort of person who requires careful handling by a man like my

"The sort of person, as I venture to think," Emily persisted, "whom I ought to see with as little loss of time as

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 selfcontrol. 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

They parted as good friends as everwith 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

But the hours passedand the sky clearedand the horse was reported to be fit for work again. Fortune was

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

Under the changed circumstances, Emily would have acted ungraciously if she had persisted in holding to her

The sea still remained calm. In the stillness of the moorland solitude on the western side of "The Clink," the

She was disappointed: it was the groom who had returned. As he pulled up at the house, and dismounted,

"That's the name, miss! She got out before the train had quite stopped, and fell on the platform."

"Seriously hurt, as I heard. They carried her into a house hard byand sent for the doctor."

"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 horsewhen he heard the woman's name

"The doctor wouldn't hear of it. He was making his examination; and he said nobody was to be in the room

"Yes, miss. He said he would wait all day, if necessary; and he gave me this bit of a note to take to the

Emily turned to Mrs. Ellmother. "It's impossible to stay here, not knowing whether Mrs. Rook is going to live

The groom interfered. "I beg your pardon, miss. It was Mr. Mirabel's most particular wish that you were not,

Emily eyed the note in the man's hand with wellgrounded 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

"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.

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 surprisehe 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

"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

"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

"She is in fear of deathwhether rightly or wrongly, I don't know. There is some internal injury from the

fall. I hope to see her when the rector returns. As a brother cler gyman, I may with perfect propriety ask him

"Don't think me ungrateful," Emily replied gently. "I am no stranger to Mrs. Rook; and, if I send in my name,

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 seewhat dreadful agonies of

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."

While he was hesitating, the stationmaster 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

The house door was opened by an old man. He looked reproachfully at Mirabel. "You have been told

Encouraged by discovering that the man was Mr. Rook, Emily mentioned her name. "Perhaps you may have

"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

doorand then led the way to the first floor. Emily followed him. Mirabel, as obstinate as ever, followed

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

The sound of his voice was instantly followed by a cry from the bedchambera 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 Mirabeleyed him with the closest scrutinyand

Mr. Rook took no notice of the question. Still looking at Mirabel, he pointed down the stairs once more. With

vacant eyesmoving mechanically, like a sleepwalker in his dreamMirabel silently obeyed. Mr. Rook

"I don't understand you," Emily replied. "Who is going to frighten me? Why did you speak to Mr. Mirabel in

Mr. Rook looked toward the bedroom door. "Maybe you'll hear why, inside there. If I could have my way,

you shouldn't see herbut 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

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

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

"Not exactly injured," she explained; "but one's appearance is a matter of some anxiety even on one's

deathbed. I am disfigured by a thoughtless use of water, to bring me to when I had my falland I can't get

at my toiletthings 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. Vanityof all human frailties the longestlivedstill held its firmlyrooted 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

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 allwise Providence. No mortal creature must disturb us."

"No! I can't allow you to remind me of that," Mrs. Rook protested. "I must compose myself. Be quiet. Let me

Recovering her composure, she also recovered that sense of enjoyment in talking of herself, which was one of

"You will excuse me if I exhibit religion," she resumed. "My dear parents were exemplary people; I was most

The bygone time returned to her memorythe 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 freethinking opinions to be the result of her illassorted marriage.

Forgottenall forgotten, in this later time of pain and fear. Prostrate under the dread of death, her innermost

naturestripped of the concealments of her later lifewas revealed to view. The early religious training, at

which she had scoffed in the insolence of health and strength, revealed its latent influenceintermitted, 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 mindmy old man and

Iwhen we were engaged by Sir Jervis. Miss Redwood wanted to put us in the next bedroom to hersa

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 outand 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

"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 firstsolemnly 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 awayand

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

"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 heardand

"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

"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 awayher

disheveled hair, with streaks of gray showing through the dyepresented 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 selfreproach. 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

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 feelshow shall I express it?a little vacant. Have mercy on my poor wicked

"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

"Oh, the horrid reminder of the murder!" Mrs. Rook exclaimed. "I didn't mention it: don't blame Me. You

Emily's horror of the woman forced her to speak. "Don't tell me!" she cried. "I know more than you suppose;

"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 hima present on his

"No; it's not lost. You will hear more of it directly. Dry your eyes, and expect something interestingI'm

going to talk about love. Love, my dear, means myself. Why shouldn't it? I'm not the only nicelooking

"Everything, you rude girl! My lover was like the rest of them; he would bet on racehorses, and he lost. He

owned it to me, on the day when your father came to our inn. He said, 'I must find the moneyor be off to

America, and say goodby 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 eyesI was so

"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 overnight. It was full of banknotes. Oh, what an overpowering thing love is! Perhaps you have

Emily's indignation once more got the better of her prudence. "Have you no feeling of decency on your

Mrs. Rook forgot her piety; she was ready with an impudent rejoinder. "You hotheaded little woman, your

time will come," she answered. "But you're rightI am wandering from the point; I am not sufficiently

sensible of this solemn occasion. Bytheby, do you notice my language? I inherit correct English from my

mothera 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 pocketbookI

did nothing but think of that devilish pocketbook, full of banknotes. 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

Emily found the wine and gave it to her. She shuddered as she accidentally touched Mrs. Rook's hand.

"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

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 furiouslyshe staggered to the door, and opened it to escape from the

"I'm guilty of robbing him; but I'm innocent of his blood!" Mrs. Rook called after her wildly. "The deed was

donethe yard door was wide open, and the man was gonewhen I looked in for the last time. Come back,

She opened her bedgown at the throat, and drew up a loop of ribbon over her head. 'The pocketbook was

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

"There's no good in the woman!" Mrs. Rook answered desperately. "There's nothing but fearfear of hell

now; fear of the pocketbook in the past time. Twice I tried to destroy itand 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 tongueand those were the grand words it dinned in my ears, morning and night." She stooped

to fetch her breathstopped, 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 selfand 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 Christiansay you

Emily looked at her imploringly. "Don't send me away, knowing no more of the murder than I knew when I

"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 deepdrawn 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

In a moment more, the doctor came ina brisk, smiling, selfsufficient mansmartly dressed, with a

flower in his buttonhole. A stifling odor of musk filled the room, as he drew out his handkerchief with a

"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 intercoursewith the one doubt that

preserved her belief in Mirabel, eager for confirmationEmily 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.

"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

Emily had fled from the room. He had destroyed her last fragment of belief in Mirabel's innocence. She was

"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?"

"Mrs. Delvin! she's a friend and patient of mine. Say I'll look in tomorrow 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."

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

"You won't be startled when you see Mr. Mirabelwill 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

There was a courtyard at the back of the house. They found their way to it. A bench was placed against one of

"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 tooand 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. Coldcold as ice. What it all meant I can't say. Oh, miss, you know! Let me tell you the

"I don't know how it might have ended, if the doctor hadn't come into pay his visit, you know, upstairs. He

said some learned words. When he came to plain English, he asked if anybody had frig htened the gentleman.

I said Mr. Rook had frightened him. The doctor says to Mr. Rook, 'Mind what you are about. If you frighten

him again, you may have his death to answer for.' That cowed Mr. Rook. He asked what he had better do.

'Give me some brandy for him first,' says the doctor; 'and then get him home at once.' I found the brandy, and

went away to the inn to order the carriage. Your ears are quicker than mine, missdo I hear it now?"

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 hertrembledand 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

She started back from him. He looked at Mrs. Ellmother. "Tell her I am innocent," he said. The trembling

She turned away and spoke to the coachman. "I am not very well. I want the fresh airI'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 tomorrow; and leave

Alone in her room, Emily opened her writingcase. 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

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 banknotes 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

It was without date or address; a startling letter to look atfor it only contained three words:

The discovery of the letter gave a new direction to Emily's thoughtsand 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;

Emily was still pondering over the three mysterious words, when she was interrupted by Mrs. Ellmother's

"I must ask you to let me come in, miss; though I know you wished to be left by yourself till tomorrow.

Mrs. Delvin says she must positively see you tonight. 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."

"His sister has given up her bedroom to him," Mrs. Ellmother answered. "She thought of your feelings before

she sent me hereand had the curtains closed between the sittingroom 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

She noticed a remarkable change in the invalid's sittingroomso brilliantly lighted on other

occasionsthe 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 selfrestraint 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

"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 heartwhile 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 himselfin one word, he was too timidto take my advice. He has paid the penalty,

"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."

"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

knewwhen I put obstacles in your waythat you were blindly devoting yourself to the discovery of an

Emily heard her with angry surprise. "Innocent?" she repeated. "Mrs. Rook recognized his voice the instant

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 spoke impulsively," Mrs. Delvin interposed; "that was all. My one desire before we parthow 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

"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 razora bloodstained

razor on the bed by the side of the corp se. At that discovery, he lost all control over himself. In a panic of

terror, he snatched up his knapsack, unfastened the yard door, and fled from the house. Knowing him, as you

and I know him, can we wonder at it? Many a man has been hanged for murder, on circumstantial evidence

less direct than the evidence against poor Miles. His horror of his own recollections was so overpowering that

he forbade me even to mention the inn at Zeeland in my letters, while he was abroad. 'Never tell me (he

wrote) who that wretched murdered stranger was, if I only heard of his name, I believe it would haunt me to

my dying day. I ought not to trouble you with these detailsand 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

"I don't quite despair. But my hopes have grown fainter and fainter, as the years have gone on. There is a

"I know herand 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."

"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 Zeelandand she has some reason for keeping it secret. Have you any

"I can't tell you. She has removed from the address at which my brother saw her last. He has made every

As she replied in those discouraging terms, the curtains which divided Mrs. Delvin's bedroom from her

sittingroom were drawn aside. An elderly womanservant 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

Mrs. Delvin held out her hand to Emily. "Come to me tomorrow morning," she saidand signed to the

servant to wheel her couch into the next room. As the curtain closed over them, Emily heard Mirabel's voice.

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 saidbut he was unable to

remember what it was. And they had waited together at a railway stationbut for what purpose he could not

tell. He sighed and wondered when Emily would marry himand 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 nearerand kissed her.

The parting words had been spoken. Emily and her companion were on their way to London.

For some little time, they traveled in silencealone 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

"It's useless to ask me," Emily said. "Even the great man from Edinburgh is not able to decide yet, whether he

"You have taken me into your confidence, Miss Emily, as you promisedand I have got something in my

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."

"You don't offend me. You distress me. Oh, how often I have wished!" She threw herself back in a corner

Although not remarkable for the possession of delicate tact, Mrs. Ellmother discovered that the best course

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 deathas Alban had designed to leave

her; as she would have been left, but for the treachery of Francinehow 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 selftorturing speculations on the subject of the murder. If Mirabel was

innocent, who was guilty? The false wife, without pity and without shameor 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 momentseeing her devoted old servant looking at her with kind compassionate eyesEmily's

troubled spirit sought refuge in impetuous selfbetrayal; the very betrayal which she had resolved should not

She bent forward out of her corner, and suddenly drew up her veil. "Do you expect to see Mr. Alban Morris,

"The Lord be praised!" Mrs. Ellmother burst outand 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.

Reaching the cottage at night, Emily found the card of a visitor who had called during the day. It bore the

name of "Miss Wyvil," and had a message written on it which strongly excited Emily's curiosity.

"I have seen the telegra m which tells your servant that you return tonight. Expect me early tomorrow

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 messagethat was all. Emily's impatience was, as usual, not to be concealed. Expert

Mrs. Ellmother treated the case in the right wayfirst 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 breakfasttable was cleared; as lovely, as gentle, as affectionate as everbut

"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

"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 cowardand

She produced some leaves of paper filled with writing. "There," she explained, "is Mr. Morris's own account

"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 byandby 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"

"Oh, Emily, angry with You! Read what he has written and you shall know why he keeps away."

"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.

"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

"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

"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

"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 beginwhatever it may cost meby telling

"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,

"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

"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

"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?'

"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 teacherI 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

"I assured her, with perfect sincerity, that I had drawn no such conclusion. Encouraged by my reply, Miss

"'Four years ago, I was living near Cowes, in the Isle of Wightin 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

"'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

"I asked what induced her to run the risk of protecting a stranger, who was under suspicion of having

"She said, 'You shall hear my explanation directly. Let us have done with Mr. Mirabel first. We occasionally

corresponded, during the long absence on the continent; never alluding, at his express request, to the horrible

event at the inn. His last letter reached me, after he had established himself at Vale Regis. Writing of the

society in the neighborhood, he infor med me of his introduction to Miss Wyvil, and of the invitation that he

had received to meet her friend and schoolfellow at Monksmoor. I knew that Miss Emily possessed a

Handbill describing personal peculiarities in Mr. Mirabel, not hidden under the changed appearance of his

head and face. If she remembered or happened to refer to that description, while she was living in the same

house with him, there was a possibility at least of her suspicion being excited. The fear of this took me to

you. It was a morbid fear, and, as events turned out, an unfounded fear: but I was unable to control it. Failing

to produce any effect on you, I went to Vale Regis, and tried (vainly again) to induce Mr. Mirabel to send an

excuse to Monksmoor. He, like you, wanted to know what my motive was. When I tell you that I acted solely

in Miss Emily's interests, and that I knew how she had been deceived about her father's death, need I say why

"I 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

"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,

"And yet," Emily replied gently, "it must be done. I have learned my hard lesson of endurance, Cecilia, don't

"For the first time, Miss Jethro appeared to be at a loss how to proceed. I could see that she was suffering.

"She said, 'Will you read this? It was written by Miss Emily's father. Perhaps it may say more for me than I

"'You have declared that our farewell today is our farewell forever. For the second time, you have refused to

"'If you condemn me to live without youI feel it, I know ityou 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

"'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

"'You will have time to write to me by this evening's post. I shall stop at Zeeland tomorrow, 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, Yesor say, No.'

"I gave her back the letterwith the one comment on it, which the circumstances permitted me to make:

"I went onnot willingly, for I would have spared her if it had been possible. I said, 'He died, despairing, by

"She looked up. 'No! To say that I knew it is too much. To say that I feared it is the truth.'

"She eyed me in stern surprise. 'Have I any right to love? Could I disgrace an honorable man by allowing him

"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

"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 fellowtraveler'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

"'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 amagainst 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 mineand 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

"'Your pardon,' I said, 'for not having understood youand 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 againI implore her to pity and forget me. Farewell, Mr. Morris; farewell

"I confess that the tears came into my eyes. When I could see clearly again, I was alone in the room."

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.

"My dear, do you remember what we once read in a book of history at school? It told of the death of a

tortured man, in the old time, who was broken on the wheel. He lived through it long enough to say that the

agony, after the first stroke of the club, dulled his capacity for feeling pain when the next blows fell. I fancy

pain of the mind must f ollow the same rule. Nothing you can say will hurt me now."

"I only wanted to ask, Emily, if you were engagedat one timeto marry Mr. Mirabel. Is it true?"

"False! He pressed me to consent to an engagementand I said he must not hurry me."

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 himand 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

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 happenI refused to break the dreadful news to you, unless he was somewhere near us. Your

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

listeningI've been lyingI said you wanted him. Turn me out of my situation, if you like. I've got him!

In another moment, Emily was in his armsand they were alone. On his faithful breast the blessed relief of

"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

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 seavoyage 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

"She has gone backwith Mrs. Ellmother to take care of herat 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 deathpassed without a

movement or a sighwhen his hand turned cold. Emily remained for a day at the tower to comfort poor Mrs.

"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

"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 kindhearted Cecilia has induced a

"Is there no hope yet of that sweet girl being married?" Miss Ladd asked. "We old maids all believe in

"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 themwe 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

"Oh, Doctor Allday has taken the future in hand! He revels in the oldfashioned jokes, which used to be

addressed to newlymarried 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 warmhearted 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 spectatorI'll get you the job.' Shall I tell you

"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 newspapersand 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

"I believe I can match your account of Mrs. Rook," Miss Ladd said. "Do you care to hear what has become of

Alban, rattling on hitherto in boyish high spirits, suddenly became serious. "I have no doubt Miss de Sor is

"You are getting like your old cynical self again, Mr. Morrisand 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

As Miss Ladd spoke, the bell rang at the cottage gate. "Here she is!" Alban cried, leading the way into the