She rose, and in rising, looked for the first time towards the little

room in which my martyrdom was going on.

"Who has drawn those curtains?" she exclaimed.

"The room is close enough, as it is, without keeping the air out of it

in that way."

She advanced to the curtains. At the moment when she laid her hand

on them--at the moment when the discovery of me appeared to be quite

inevitable--the voice of the fresh-coloured young footman, on the

stairs, suddenly suspended any further proceedings on her side or on

mine. It was unmistakably the voice of a man in great alarm.

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"Miss Rachel!" he called out, "where are you, Miss Rachel?"

She sprang back from the curtains, and ran to the door.

The footman came just inside the room. His ruddy colour was all gone.

He said, "Please to come down-stairs, Miss! My lady has fainted, and we

can't bring her to again."

In a moment more I was alone, and free to go down-stairs in my turn,

quite unobserved.

Mr. Godfrey passed me in the hall, hurrying out, to fetch the doctor.

"Go in, and help them!" he said, pointing to the room. I found Rachel on

her knees by the sofa, with her mother's head on her bosom. One look

at my aunt's face (knowing what I knew) was enough to warn me of the

dreadful truth. I kept my thoughts to myself till the doctor came in.

It was not long before he arrived. He began by sending Rachel out of the

room--and then he told the rest of us that Lady Verinder was no more.

Serious persons, in search of proofs of hardened scepticism, may be

interested in hearing that he showed no signs of remorse when he looked

at Me.

At a later hour I peeped into the breakfast-room, and the library. My

aunt had died without opening one of the letters which I had addressed

to her. I was so shocked at this, that it never occurred to me, until

some days afterwards, that she had also died without giving me my little

legacy.




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