Part 27 (1/2)

Dinneford. She was not able to hide her troubled feelings. Edith was watching her far more closely than she imagined; and now that she was temporarily out of her mind, she did not let a word or look escape her. The first aspect of her temporary aberration was that of fear and deprecation. She was pursued by some one who filled her with terror, and she would lift her hands to keep him off, or hide her head in abject alarm. Then she would beg him to keep away. Once she said,

”It's no use; I can't do anything more. You're a vampire!”

”Who is a vampire?” asked Edith, hoping that her mother would repeat some name.

But the question seemed to put her on her guard. The expression of fear went out of her face, and she looked at her daughter curiously.

Edith did not repeat the question. In a little while the mother's wandering thoughts began to find words again, and she went on talking in broken sentences out of which little could be gleaned. At length she said, turning to Edith and speaking with the directness of one in her right mind,

”I told you her name was Gray, didn't I? Gray, not Bray.”

It was only by a quick and strong effort that Edith could steady her voice as she replied:

”Yes; you said it was Gray.”

”Gray, not Bray. You thought it was Bray.”

”But it's Gray,” said Edith, falling in with her mother's humor. Then she added, still trying to keep her voice even,

”She was my nurse when baby was born.”

”Yes; she was the nurse, but she didn't--”

Checking herself, Mrs. Dinneford rose on one arm and looked at Edith in a frightened way, then said, hurriedly,

”Oh, it's dead, it's dead! You know that; and the woman's dead, too.”

Edith sat motionless and silent as a statue, waiting for what more might come. But her mother shut her lips tightly, and turned her head away.

A long time elapsed before she was able to read in her mother's confused utterances anything to which she could attach a meaning. At last Mrs.

Dinneford spoke out again, and with an abruptness that startled her:

”Not another dollar, sir! Remember, you don't hold _all_ the winning cards!”

Edith held her breath, and sat motionless. Her mother muttered and mumbled incoherently for a while, and then said, sharply,

”I said I would ruin him, and I've done it!”

”Ruin who?” asked Edith, in a repressed voice.

This question, instead of eliciting an answer, as Edith had hoped, brought her mother back to semi-consciousness. She rose again in bed, and looked at her daughter in the same frightened way she had done a little while before, then laid herself over on the pillows again. Her lips were tightly shut.

Edith was almost wild with suspense. The clue to that sad and painful mystery which was absorbing her life seemed almost in her grasp. A word from those closely-shut lips, and she would have certainty for uncertainty. But she waited and waited until she grew faint, and still the lips kept silent.

But after a while Mrs. Dinneford grew uneasy, and began talking. She moved her head from side to side, threw her arms about restlessly and appeared greatly disturbed.

”Not dead, Mrs. Bray?” she cried out, at last, in a clear, strong voice.

Edith became fixed as a statue once more.

A few moments, and Mrs. Dinneford added,