The parting words had been spoken. Emily and her companion were on their
way to London.
For some little time, they traveled in silence--alone in the railway
carriage. After submitting as long as she could to lay an embargo on the
use of her tongue, Mrs. Ellmother started the conversation by means of a
question: “Do you think Mr. Mirabel will get over it, miss?”
“It’s useless to ask me,” Emily said. “Even the great man from Edinburgh
is not able to decide yet, whether he will recover or not.”
“You have taken me into your confidence, Miss Emily, as you
promised--and I have got something in my mind in consequence. May I
mention it without giving offense?”
“What is it?”
“I wish you had never taken up with Mr. Mirabel.”
Emily was silent. Mrs. Ellmother, having a design of her own to
accomplish, ventured to speak more plainly. “I often think of Mr. Alban
Morris,” she proceeded. “I always did like him, and I always shall.”
Emily suddenly pulled down her veil. “Don’t speak of him!” she said.
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“You don’t offend me. You distress me. Oh, how often I have wished--!”
She threw herself back in a corner of the carriage and said no more.
Although not remarkable for the possession of delicate tact, Mrs.
Ellmother discovered that the best course she could now follow was a
course of silence.
Even at the time when she had most implicitly trusted Mirabel, the
fear that she might have acted hastily and harshly toward Alban had
occasionally troubled Emily’s mind. The impression produced by later
events had not only intensified this feeling, but had presented the
motives of that true friend under an entirely new point of view. If she
had been left in ignorance of the manner of her father’s death--as Alban
had designed to leave her; as she would have been left, but for the
treachery of Francine--how happily free she would have been from
thoughts which it was now a terror to her to recall. She would have
parted from Mirabel, when the visit to the pleasant country house had
come to an end, remembering him as an amusing acquaintance and nothing
more. He would have been spared, and she would have been spared, the
shock that had so cruelly assailed them both. What had she gained
by Mrs. Rook’s detestable confession? The result had been perpetual
disturbance of mind provoked by self-torturing speculations on the
subject of the murder. If Mirabel was innocent, who was guilty? The
false wife, without pity and without shame--or the brutal husband, who
looked capable of any enormity? What was her future to be? How was it
all to end? In the despair of that bitter moment--seeing her devoted old
servant looking at her with kind compassionate eyes--Emily’s troubled
spirit sought refuge in impetuous self-betrayal; the very betrayal which
she had resolved should not escape her, hardly a minute since!
She bent forward out of her corner, and suddenly drew up her veil. “Do
you expect to see Mr. Alban Morris, when we get back?” she asked.
“I should like to see him, miss--if you have no objection.”
“Tell him I am ashamed of myself! and say I ask his pardon with all my
heart!”
“The Lord be praised!” Mrs. Ellmother burst out--and then, when it was
too late, remembered the conventional restraints appropriate to the
occasion. “Gracious, what a fool I am!” she said to herself. “Beautiful
weather, Miss Emily, isn’t it?” she continued, in a desperate hurry to
change the subject.
Emily reclined again in her corner of the carriage. She smiled, for the
first time since she had become Mrs. Delvin’s guest at the tower.
BOOK THE LAST--AT HOME AGAIN.