Having looked at the card,Emily put her first question to the servant.
"Did you tell Mr.Morris what your orders were?"she asked.
"Yes,miss;I said I was to have shown him in,if you had been at home.Perhaps I did wrong;I told him what you told me when you went out this morning--I said you had gone to read at the Museum.""What makes you think you did wrong?"
"Well,miss,he didn't say anything,but he looked upset.""Do you mean that he looked angry?"
The servant shook her head."Not exactly angry--puzzled and put out.""Did he leave any message?"
"He said he would call later,if you would be so good as to receive him."In half an hour more,Alban and Emily were together again.The light fell full on her face as she rose to receive him.
"Oh,how you have suffered!"
The words escaped him before he could restrain himself.He looked at her with the tender sympathy,so precious to women,which she had not seen in the face of any human creature since the loss of her aunt.Even the good doctor's efforts to console her had been efforts of professional routine--the inevitable result of his life-long familiarity with sorrow and death.While Alban's eyes rested on her,Emily felt her tears rising.In the fear that he might misinterpret her reception of him,she made an effort to speak with some appearance of composure.
"I lead a lonely life,"she said;"and I can well understand that my face shows it.You are one of my very few friends,Mr.
Morris"--the tears rose again;it discouraged her to see him standing irresolute,with his hat in his hand,fearful of intruding on her."Indeed,indeed,you are welcome,"she said,very earnestly.
In those sad days her heart was easily touched.She gave him her hand for the second time.He held it gently for a moment.Every day since they had parted she had been in his thoughts;she had become dearer to him than ever.He was too deeply affected to trust himself to answer.That silence pleaded for him as nothing had pleaded for him yet.In her secret self she remembered with wonder how she had received his confession in the school garden.
It was a little hard on him,surely,to have forbidden him even to hope.
Conscious of her own weakness--even while giving way to it--she felt the necessity of turning his attention from herself.In some confusion,she pointed to a chair at her side,and spoke of his first visit,when he had left her letters at the door.Having confided to him all that she had discovered,and all that she had guessed,on that occasion,it was by an easy transition that she alluded next to the motive for his journey to the North.
"I thought it might be suspicion of Mrs.Rook,"she said."Was Imistaken?"
"No;you were right."
"They were serious suspicions,I suppose?"
"Certainly!I should not otherwise have devoted my holiday-time to clearing them up.""May I know what they were?"
"I am sorry to disappoint you,"he began.
"But you would rather not answer my question,"she interposed.
"I would rather hear you tell me if you have made any other guess.""One more,Mr.Morris.I guessed that you had become acquainted with Sir Jervis Redwood.""For the second time,Miss Emily,you have arrived at a sound conclusion.My one hope of finding opportunities for observing Sir Jervis's housekeeper depended on my chance of gaining admission to Sir Jervis's house.""How did you succeed?Perhaps you provided yourself with a letter of introduction?""I knew nobody who could introduce me,"Alban replied."As the event proved,a letter would have been needless.Sir Jervis introduced himself--and,more wonderful still,he invited me to his house at our first interview.""Sir Jervis introduced himself?"Emily repeated,in amazement.
"From Cecilia's deion of him,I should have thought he was the last person in the world to do that!"Alban smiled."And you would like to know how it happened?"he suggested.
"The very favor I was going to ask of you,"she replied.
