Part 67 (1/2)

”She will see me, if _you_ ask her,” he said, ”Let me wait here?”

The sound of his voice was instantly followed by a cry from the bed-chamber--a cry of terror.

Mr. Rook hurried into the room, and closed the door. In less than a minute, he opened it again, with doubt and horror plainly visible in his face. He stepped up to Mirabel--eyed him with the closest scrutiny--and drew back again with a look of relief.

”She's wrong,” he said; ”you are not the man.”

This strange proceeding startled Emily.

”What man do you mean?” she asked.

Mr. Rook took no notice of the question. Still looking at Mirabel, he pointed down the stairs once more. With vacant eyes--moving mechanically, like a sleep-walker in his dream--Mirabel silently obeyed.

Mr. Rook turned to Emily.

”Are you easily frightened?” he said

”I don't understand you,” Emily replied. ”Who is going to frighten me?

Why did you speak to Mr. Mirabel in that strange way?”

Mr. Rook looked toward the bedroom door. ”Maybe you'll hear why, inside there. If I could have my way, you shouldn't see her--but she's not to be reasoned with. A caution, miss. Don't be too ready to believe what my wife may say to you. She's had a fright.” He opened the door. ”In my belief,” he whispered, ”she's off her head.”

Emily crossed the threshold. Mr. Rook softly closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER LXI. INSIDE THE ROOM.

A decent elderly woman was seated at the bedside. She rose, and spoke to Emily with a mingling of sorrow and confusion strikingly expressed on her face. ”It isn't my fault,” she said, ”that Mrs. Rook receives you in this manner; I am obliged to humor her.”

She drew aside, and showed Mrs. Rook with her head supported by many pillows, and her face strangely hidden from view under a veil. Emily started back in horror. ”Is her face injured?” she asked.

Mrs. Rook answered the question herself. Her voice was low and weak; but she still spoke with the same nervous hurry of articulation which had been remarked by Alban Morris, on the day when she asked him to direct her to Netherwoods.

”Not exactly injured,” she explained; ”but one's appearance is a matter of some anxiety even on one's death-bed. I am disfigured by a thoughtless use of water, to bring me to when I had my fall--and I can't get at my toilet-things to put myself right again. I don't wish to shock you. Please excuse the veil.”

Emily remembered the rouge on her cheeks, and the dye on her hair, when they had first seen each other at the school. Vanity--of all human frailties the longest-lived--still held its firmly-rooted place in this woman's nature; superior to torment of conscience, una.s.sailable by terror of death!

The good woman of the house waited a moment before she left the room.

”What shall I say,” she asked, ”if the clergyman comes?”

Mrs. Rook lifted her hand solemnly ”Say,” she answered, ”that a dying sinner is making atonement for sin. Say this young lady is present, by the decree of an all-wise Providence. No mortal creature must disturb us.” Her hand dropped back heavily on the bed. ”Are we alone?” she asked.

”We are alone,” Emily answered. ”What made you scream just before I came in?”

”No! I can't allow you to remind me of that,” Mrs. Rook protested. ”I must compose myself. Be quiet. Let me think.”

Recovering her composure, she also recovered that sense of enjoyment in talking of herself, which was one of the marked peculiarities in her character.

”You will excuse me if I exhibit religion,” she resumed. ”My dear parents were exemplary people; I was most carefully brought up. Are you pious? Let us hope so.”

Emily was once more reminded of the past.