Part 71 (1/2)
”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 a.s.sailed 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 compa.s.sionate 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.
CHAPTER LXV. CECILIA IN A NEW CHARACTER.
Reaching the cottage at night, Emily found the card of a visitor who had called during the day. It bore the name of ”Miss Wyvil,” and had a message written on it which strongly excited Emily's curiosity.
”I have seen the telegram which tells your servant that you return to-night. Expect me early to-morrow morning--with news that will deeply interest you.”
To what news did Cecilia allude? Emily questioned the woman who had been left in charge of the cottage, and found that she had next to nothing to tell. Miss Wyvil had flushed up, and had looked excited, when she read the telegraphic message--that was all. Emily's impatience was, as usual, not to be concealed. Expert Mrs. Ellmother treated the case in the right way--first with supper, and then with an adjournment to bed. The clock struck twelve, when she put out the young mistress's candle. ”Ten hours to pa.s.s before Cecilia comes here!” Emily exclaimed. ”Not ten minutes,”
Mrs. Ellmother reminded her, ”if you will only go to sleep.”
Cecilia arrived before the breakfast-table was cleared; as lovely, as gentle, as affectionate as ever--but looking unusually serious and subdued.