In a moment more, the doctor came in--a brisk, smiling, self-sufficient
man--smartly dressed, with a flower in his button-hole. A stifling
odor of musk filled the room, as he drew out his handkerchief with a
flourish, and wiped his forehead.
“Plenty of hard work in my line, just now,” he said. “Hullo, Mrs. Rook!
somebody has been allowing you to excite yourself. I heard you, before
I opened the door. Have you been encouraging her to talk?” he asked,
turning to Emily, and shaking his finger at her with an air of facetious
remonstrance.
Incapable of answering him; forgetful of the ordinary restraints of
social intercourse--with the one doubt that preserved her belief in
Mirabel, eager for confirmation--Emily signed to this stranger to follow
her into a corner of the room, out of hearing. She made no excuses: she
took no notice of his look of surprise. One hope was all she could feel,
one word was all she could say, after that second assertion of Mirabel’s
guilt. Indicating Mrs. Rook by a glance at the bed, she whispered the
word:
“Mad?”
Flippant and familiar, the doctor imitated her; he too looked at the
bed.
“No more mad than you are, miss. As I said just now, my patient has
been exciting herself; I daresay she has talked a little wildly in
consequence. _Hers_ isn’t a brain to give way, I can tell you. But
there’s somebody else--”
Emily had fled from the room. He had destroyed her last fragment of
belief in Mirabel’s innocence. She was on the landing trying to console
herself, when the doctor joined her.
“Are you acquainted with the gentleman downstairs?” he asked.
“What gentleman?”
“I haven’t heard his name; he looks like a clergyman. If you know him--”
“I do know him. I can’t answer questions! My mind--”
“Steady your mind, miss! and take your friend home as soon as you can.
_He_ hasn’t got Mrs. Rook’s hard brain; he’s in a state of nervous
prostration, which may end badly. Do you know where he lives?”
“He is staying with his sister--Mrs. Delvin.”
“Mrs. Delvin! she’s a friend and patient of mine. Say I’ll look in
to-morrow morning, and see what I can do for her brother. In the
meantime, get him to bed, and to rest; and don’t be afraid of giving him
brandy.”
The doctor returned to the bedroom. Emily heard Mrs. Ellmother’s voice
below.
“Are you up there, miss?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Ellmother ascended the stairs. “It was an evil hour,” she said,
“that you insisted on going to this place. Mr. Mirabel--” The sight of
Emily’s face suspended the next words on her lips. She took the poor
young mistress in her motherly arms. “Oh, my child! what has happened to
you?”
“Don’t ask me now. Give me your arm--let us go downstairs.”
“You won’t be startled when you see Mr. Mirabel--will you, my dear? I
wouldn’t let them disturb you; I said nobody should speak to you but
myself. The truth is, Mr. Mirabel has had a dreadful fright. What are
you looking for?”
“Is there a garden here? Any place where we can breathe the fresh air?”
There was a courtyard at the back of the house. They found their way to
it. A bench was placed against one of the walls. They sat down.
“Shall I wait till you’re better before I say any more?” Mrs. Ellmother
asked. “No? You want to hear about Mr. Mirabel? My dear, he came into
the parlor where I was; and Mr. Rook came in too---and waited, looking
at him. Mr. Mirabel sat down in a corner, in a dazed state as I thought.
It wasn’t for long. He jumped up, and clapped his hand on his heart as
if his heart hurt him. ‘I must and will know what’s going on upstairs,’
he says. Mr. Rook pulled him back, and told him to wait till the
young lady came down. Mr. Mirabel wouldn’t hear of it. ‘Your wife’s
frightening her,’ he says; ‘your wife’s telling her horrible things
about me.’ He was taken on a sudden with a shivering fit; his eyes
rolled, and his teeth chattered. Mr. Rook made matters worse; he lost
his temper. ‘I’m damned,’ he says, ‘if I don’t begin to think you
_are_ the man, after all; I’ve half a mind to send for the police.’ Mr.
Mirabel dropped into his chair. His eyes stared, his mouth fell open. I
took hold of his hand. Cold--cold as ice. What it all meant I can’t say.
Oh, miss, _you_ know! Let me tell you the rest of it some other time.”
Emily insisted on hearing more. “The end!” she cried. “How did it end?”
“I don’t know how it might have ended, if the doctor hadn’t come in--to
pay his visit, you know, upstairs. He said some learned words. When
he came to plain English, he asked if anybody had frightened the
gentleman. I said Mr. Rook had frightened him. The doctor says to Mr.
Rook, ‘Mind what you are about. If you frighten him again, you may have
his death to answer for.’ That cowed Mr. Rook. He asked what he had
better do. ‘Give me some brandy for him first,’ says the doctor; ‘and
then get him home at once.’ I found the brandy, and went away to the inn
to order the carriage. Your ears are quicker than mine, miss--do I hear
it now?”
They rose, and went to the house door. The carriage was there.
Still cowed by what the doctor had said, Mr. Rook appeared, carefully
leading Mirabel out. He had revived under the action of the stimulant.
Passing Emily he raised his eyes to her--trembled--and looked down
again. When Mr. Rook opened the door of the carriage he paused, with one
of his feet on the step. A momentary impulse inspired him with a false
courage, and brought a flush into his ghastly face. He turned to Emily.
“May I speak to you?” he asked.
She started back from him. He looked at Mrs. Ellmother. “Tell her I
am innocent,” he said. The trembling seized on him again. Mr. Rook was
obliged to lift him into the carriage.
Emily caught at Mrs. Ellmother’s arm. “You go with him,” she said. “I
can’t.”
“How are you to get back, miss?”
She turned away and spoke to the coachman. “I am not very well. I want
the fresh air--I’ll sit by you.”
Mrs. Ellmother remonstrated and protested, in vain. As Emily had
determined it should be, so it was.
“Has he said anything?” she asked, when they had arrived at their
journey’s end.
“He has been like a man frozen up; he hasn’t said a word; he hasn’t even
moved.”
“Take him to his sister; and tell her all that you know. Be careful to
repeat what the doctor said. I can’t face Mrs. Delvin. Be patient, my
good old friend; I have no secrets from you. Only wait till to-morrow;
and leave me by myself to-night.”
Alone in her room, Emily opened her writing-case. Searching among
the letters in it, she drew out a printed paper. It was the Handbill
describing the man who had escaped from the inn, and offering a reward
for the discovery of him.
At the first line of the personal description of the fugitive, the paper
dropped from her hand. Burning tears forced their way into her eyes.
Feeling for her handkerchief, she touched the pocketbook which she had
received from Mrs. Rook. After a little hesitation she took it out. She
looked at it. She opened it.
The sight of the bank-notes repelled her; she hid them in one of the
pockets of the book. There was a second pocket which she had not yet
examined. She pat her hand into it, and, touching something, drew out a
letter.
The envelope (already open) was addressed to “James Brown, Esq., Post
Office, Zeeland.” Would it be inconsistent with her respect for her
father’s memory to examine the letter? No; a glance would decide whether
she ought to read it or not.
It was without date or address; a startling letter to look at--for it
only contained three words:
“I say No.”
The words were signed in initials:
“S. J.”
In the instant when she read the initials, the name occurred to her.
Sara Jethro.