"Silence, you mad woman! Do you want to bring them here? Do you want
to have me dragged away like some miserable prisoner?"
"Oh, master--dear master," sobbed the frightened woman piteously, as the
hand was removed from her lips, and she sank at North's knees and
embraced them. "What does it all mean?--what does it all mean?"
"What does all what mean?"
"All that noise--that noise?" sobbed the housekeeper in a broken voice.
"Have you--have you killed him?"
"Killed him?" cried North harshly. "Killed whom? There is no one
here."
"There is--there is, sir. I heard it all."
"Hush!" cried North. "Listen. Is any one coming? Did they hear in the
kitchen?"
"No, sir. I couldn't bear for any one else but me to hear it all,"
sobbed the trembling woman. "I went back and shut the door."
"Then no one has heard--no one knows--but you?"
"No, sir."
"My cousin?"
"He has gone out, sir."
"Hah! Then it is a secret still," muttered North.
The old housekeeper struggled to her feet, for his words and manner
horrified her. She alone had heard what had taken place, and it seemed
to her that within a few steps her master's victim must be lying prone,
and that even her life was not safe now.
Her first instinct was to make for the door, but he had hold of her
wrist, and she sank once more at his feet, with a low sobbing cry.
"I'm an old woman, now," she cried, "and a year or two more or less
don't matter much."
The same harsh, mocking laugh broke out again, chilling her to the
marrow, and then North uttered a hoarse, harsh expiration of the breath,
and stamped his foot angrily.
Then there was a pause, broken only by the old woman's painful sobs.
"My poor old Milt," said North gently, as he raised her from the ground.
"Why, what were you thinking--that I would do you any harm?"
"I--I couldn't help it, sir; but--but I don't think so now. Oh,
master--dear master, I thought you had killed some one. What does it
mean?--what does it mean?"
He did not answer for a few moments, and when he spoke again there was
an indescribable, mournful sadness in his voice. "What are you
thinking?" he said. She answered with a sob. "I'll tell you," he said;
"you think that I am mad."
"No, no, no! master--my great, clever, noble master," cried the old
woman passionately. "Only ill--only very ill; and you can cure
yourself. Yes, yes; pray say that you can!"
"No," he said bitterly. "No. It has come to the worst. There, go: I
am worn out, and want to rest."
"But you will let me help you, dear," she said, speaking with the
tenderness of a mother towards the boy she worshipped with a lavish
love. "Let me do something--let me help you, dear. It is overwork.
Your poor brain is troubled. Let me open the window, and let in light
and air, and then you shall go to bed; and I'll bathe your poor head,
and you shall tell me what to mix. You know how I can nurse and tend
you now you are ill."
North took the old woman's head between his hands as they stood there in
the darkness, and kissed her on the forehead.
"Yes, the best and gentlest of nurses," he said quietly.
"And you will let me help you, sir?"
"Yes; but not now. It was a kind of fit you heard--nothing more. Now
go. See that I am not disturbed. Perhaps I can sleep. There: you know
there is no one here."
"Yes, my dear, of course--of course. I ought to have known better; I
know now. And you will try to sleep?"
"Yes--I promise you, yes.
"Let me go down and get something for you; tell me what, and the
quantities."
"Yes," said North eagerly, for she seemed to be opening before him the
gates of release from his life of horror; but he shook his head as he
called to mind how familiar she was with his surgery, and that if he
bade her mix what he wished, she would turn suspicious and refuse.
"What shall I do, my dear?" said the old woman tenderly.
"Nothing now," he said; "sleep will be best. Let me go to sleep."
The old housekeeper sighed; but she made no opposition, and let him
gently lead her to the door and shut her out, where she stood with her
apron to her eyes, listening for a few moments to the loud snap given by
the lock, and the dull, low sound of his pacing feet.
Then the old woman seemed to change.
She let fall her apron and tightened her lips. Her eyes grew keen and
eager, and she gazed straight before her, deep in thought.
In a few moments her mind was made up.
"He must have proper help," she said softly; and with an activity not to
be expected of one at her time of life, she hurried up to her bedroom,
to come out in a few minutes dressed for going out.
"I must fetch help," she said eagerly, and going to North's door she
listened for a few moments more before hurrying down to the door, when a
step on the gravel made her utter a cry of joy.
The man she was going to seek was coming up to the house, and the next
minute she had confided to Salis all she felt and knew, and he had gone
back to Mary, before hurrying away to telegraph to town.
Volume 3, Chapter XV.