But Ethel was not deterred by these statements; on the contrary, they stimulated her interest in her friend. Dora needed her, and the old feeling of protection stirred her to interference. At any rate, she could call and see the unhappy woman; and though Tyrrel was opposed to the visit, and thought it every way unwise, Ethel was resolved to make it. "You can drive me there," she said, "then go and see Justice Manningham and call for me in half an hour." And this resolution was strengthened by a pitiful little note received from Dora just after her decision. "Mostyn has gone to Thirsk," it said; "for pity's sake come and see me about two o'clock this afternoon."
The request was promptly answered. As the clock struck two Ethel crossed the threshold of the home that might have been hers. She shuddered at the thought. The atmosphere of the house was full of fear and gloom, the furniture dark and shabby, and she fancied the wraiths of old forgotten crimes and sorrows were gliding about the sad, dim rooms and stairways. Dora rose in a passion of tears to welcome her, and because time was short instantly began her pitiful story.
"You know how he adored me once," she said; "would you believe it, Ethel, we were not two weeks married when he began to hate me. He dragged me through Europe in blazing heat and blinding snows when I was sick and unfit to move. He brought me here in the depth of winter, and when no one called on us he blamed me; and from morning till night, and sometimes all night long, he taunts and torments me. After he heard that you had bought the Manor he lost all control of himself. He will not let me sleep. He walks the floor hour after hour, declaring he could have had you and the finest manor in England but for a cat-faced woman like me. And he blames me for poor Basil's death--says we murdered him together, and that he sees blood on my hands." And she looked with terror at her small, thin hands, and held them up as if to protest against the charge. When she next spoke it was to sob out, "Poor Basil! He would pity me! He would help me! He would forgive me! He knows now that Mostyn was, and is, my evil genius."
"Do not cry so bitterly, Dora, it hurts me. Let us think. Is there nothing you can do?"
"I want to go to mother." Then she drew Ethel's head close to her and whispered a few words, and Ethel answered, "You poor little one, you shall go to your mother. Where is she?"