Part 17 (1/2)

For the moment, Mrs. Mosey was petrified. She had fully expected--having reached the end of her terrible story--to find Emily at her feet, entreating her not to carry out her intention of leaving the cottage the next morning; and she had determined, after her sense of her own importance had been sufficiently flattered, to grant the prayer of the helpless young lady. Those were her antic.i.p.ations--and how had they been fulfilled? She had been treated like a mad woman in a state of revolt!

”How dare you a.s.sault me?” she asked piteously. ”You ought to be ashamed of yourself. G.o.d knows I meant well.”

”You are not the first person,” Emily answered, quietly releasing her, ”who has done wrong with the best intentions.”

”I did my duty, miss, when I told you what your aunt said.”

”You forgot your duty when you listened to what my aunt said.”

”Allow me to explain myself.”

”No: not a word more on _that_ subject shall pa.s.s between us. Remain here, if you please; I have something to suggest in your own interests.

Wait, and compose yourself.”

The purpose which had taken a foremost place in Emily's mind rested on the firm foundation of her love and pity for her aunt.

Now that she had regained the power to think, she felt a hateful doubt pressed on her by Mrs. Mosey's disclosures. Having taken for granted that there was a foundation in truth for what she herself had heard in her aunt's room, could she reasonably resist the conclusion that there must be a foundation in truth for what Mrs. Mosey had heard, under similar circ.u.mstances?

There was but one way of escaping from this dilemma--and Emily deliberately took it. She turned her back on her own convictions; and persuaded herself that she had been in the wrong, when she had attached importance to anything that her aunt had said, under the influence of delirium. Having adopted this conclusion, she resolved to face the prospect of a night's solitude by the death-bed--rather than permit Mrs.

Mosey to have a second opportunity of drawing her own inferences from what she might hear in Miss Let.i.tia's room.

”Do you mean to keep me waiting much longer, miss?”

”Not a moment longer, now you are composed again,” Emily answered. ”I have been thinking of what has happened; and I fail to see any necessity for putting off your departure until the doctor comes to-morrow morning.

There is really no objection to your leaving me to-night.”

”I beg your pardon, miss; there _is_ an objection. I have already told you I can't reconcile it to my conscience to leave you here by yourself.

I am not an inhuman woman,” said Mrs. Mosey, putting her handkerchief to her eyes--smitten with pity for herself.

Emily tried the effect of a conciliatory reply. ”I am grateful for your kindness in offering to stay with me,” she said.

”Very good of you, I'm sure,” Mrs. Mosey answered ironically. ”But for all that, you persist in sending me away.”

”I persist in thinking that there is no necessity for my keeping you here until to-morrow.”

”Oh, have it your own way! I am not reduced to forcing my company on anybody.”

Mrs. Mosey put her handkerchief in her pocket, and a.s.serted her dignity.

With head erect and slowly-marching steps she walked out of the room.

Emily was left in the cottage, alone with her dying aunt.

CHAPTER XVI. MISS JETHRO.

A fortnight after the disappearance of Mrs. Ellmother, and the dismissal of Mrs. Mosey, Doctor Allday entered his consulting-room, punctual to the hour at which he was accustomed to receive patients.