o's brief and stern reply? Neither letter nor
envelope offered the slightest hint that might assist inquiry; even the
postmark had been so carelessly impressed that it was illegible.
Emily was still pondering over the three mysterious words, when she was
interrupted by Mrs. Ellmother's voice at the door.
"I must ask you to let me come in, miss; though I know you wished to be
left by yourself till to-morrow. Mrs. Delvin says she must positively
see you to-night. It's my belief that she will send for the servants,
and have herself carried in here, if you refuse to do what she asks. You
needn't be afraid of seeing Mr. Mirabel."
"Where is he?"
"His sister has given up her bedroom to him," Mrs. Ellmother answered.
"She thought of your feelings before she sent me here--and had the
curtains closed between the sitting-room and the bedroom. I suspect my
nasty temper misled me, when I took a dislike to Mrs. Delvin. She's a
good creature; I'm sorry you didn't go to her as soon as we got back."
"Did she seem to be angry, when she sent you here?"
"Angry! She was crying when I left her."
Emily hesitated no longer.
She noticed a remarkable change in the invalid's sitting-room--so
brilliantly lighted on other occasions--the moment she entered it. The
lamps were shaded, and the candles were all extinguished. "My eyes don't
bear the light so well as usual," Mrs. Delvin said. "Come and sit near
me, Emily; I hope to quiet your mind. I should be grieved if you left my
house with a wrong impression of me."
Knowing what she knew, suffering as she must have suffered, the quiet
kindness of her tone implied an exercise of self-restraint which
appealed irresistibly to Emily's sympathies. "Forgive me," she said,
"for having done you an injustice. I am ashamed to think that I shrank
from seeing you when I returned from Belford."
"I will endeavor to be worthy of your better opinion of me," Mrs. Delvin
replied. "In one respect at least, I may claim to have had your best
interests at heart--while we were still personally strangers. I tried
to prevail on my poor brother to own the truth, when he discovered
the terrible position in which he was placed toward you. He was too
conscious of the absence of any proof which might induce you to
believe him, if he attempted to defend himself--in one word, he was too
timid--to take my advice. He has paid the penalty, and I have paid the
penalty, of deceiving you."
Emily started. "In what w
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