And now I am taking up the story for myself; I, Johnny Ludlow. Had I
gone straight on with it after that last night of Janet's sleep-walking
at Miss Deveen's, you would never have understood.
It was on the Saturday night that Janet was found out--as any one must
remember who took the trouble to count up the nights and days. On the
Sunday morning early, Miss Deveen's doctor was sent for. Dr. Galliard
happened to be out of town, so Mr. Black attended for him. Cattledon was
like vinegar. She looked upon Janet's proceedings as a regular scandal,
and begged Miss Deveen's pardon for having brought her niece into the
house. Upon which she was requested not to be silly.
Miss Deveen told the whole tale of the lost bank-note, to me and to
Helen and Anna Whitney: at least, as much as she knew of it herself.
Janet was innocent as a child; she felt sure of that, she said, and
much to be pitied; and that Mrs. Knox, of Lefford, seemed to be a most
undesirable sort of person. To us it sounded like a romance, or a story
out of a newspaper police-report.
Monday came in; a warm, bright April day. I was returning to Oxford in
the evening--and why I had not returned in the past week, as ought to
have been the case, there's no space to tell here. Miss Deveen said we
might go for a walk if we liked. But Helen and Anna did not seem to care
about it; neither did I, to say the truth. A house with a marvel in it
has attractions; and we would by far rather have gone upstairs to see
Janet. Janet was better, quite composed, but weak, they said: she was up
and dressed, and in Miss Deveen's own blue-room.
"Well, do you mean to go out, or not, you young people?" asked Miss
Deveen. "Dear me, here are visitors!"