I Say No

was walking up and down the room. What do you say? Was he agitated? I didn't notice. I don't know whether the other man was asleep or awake. I saw nothing but the pocketbook stuck under the pillow, half in and half out. Your father kept on walking up and down. I thought to myself, 'I'll wait till he gets tired, and then I'll have another look at the pocketbook.' Where's the wine? The doctor said I might have a glass of wine when I wanted it.'

Emily found the wine and gave it to her. She shuddered as she accidentally touched Mrs. Rook's hand.

The wine helped the sinking woman.

'I must have got up more than once,' she resumed. 'And more than once my heart must have failed me. I don't clearly remember what I did, till the gray of the morning came. I think that must have been the last time I looked through the glass in the door.'

She began to tremble. She tore the veil off her face. She cried out piteously, 'Lord, be merciful to me a sinner! Come here,' she said to Emily. 'Where are you? No! I daren't tell you what I saw; I daren't tell you what I did. When you're pos sessed by the devil, there's nothing, nothing, nothing you can't do! Where did I find the courage to unlock the door? Where did I find the courage to go in? Any other woman would have lost her senses, when she found blood on her fingers after taking the pocketbook—'

Emily's head swam; her heart beat furiously—she staggered to the door, and opened it to escape from the room.

'I'm guilty of robbing him; but I'm innocent of his blood!' Mrs. Rook called after her wildly. 'The deed was done—the yard door was wide open, and the man was gone—when I looked in for the last time. Come back, come back!'

Emily looked round.

'I can't go near you,' she said, faintly.

'Come near enough to see this.'

She opened her bed-gown at the throat, and drew up a loop of ribbon over her head. 'The pocketbook was attached to the ribbon. She held it out.

'Your father's book,' she said. 'Won't you take your father's book?'

For a moment, and only for a moment, Emily was repelled by the profanation associated with her birthday gift. Then, the loving remembrance of the dear hands that had so often touched that relic, drew the faithful daughter back to the woman whom she abhorred. Her eyes rested tenderly on the book. Before it had lain in that guilty bosom, it had been his book. The beloved memory was all that was left to her now; the beloved memory consecrated it to her hand. She took the book.

'Open it,' said Mrs. Rook.

There were two five-pound bank-notes in it.

'His?' Emily asked.

'No; mine—the little I have been able to save toward restoring what I stole.'

'Oh!' Emily cried, 'is there some good in this woman, after all?'

'There's no good in the woman!' Mrs. Rook answered desperately. 'There's nothing but fear—fear of hell now; fear of the pocketbook in the past time. Twice I tried to destroy it—and twice it came back, to remind me of the duty that I owed to my miserable soul. I tried to throw it into the fire. It struck the bar, and fell back into the fender at my feet. I went out, and cast it into the well. It came back again in the first bucket of water that was drawn up. From that moment, I began to save what I could. Restitution! Atonement! I tell you the book found a tongue—and those were the grand words it dinned in my ears, morning and night.' She stooped to fetch her breath—stopped, and struck her bosom. 'I hid it here, so that no person should see it, and no person take it from me. Superstition? Oh, yes, superstition! Shall tell you something? You may find yourself superstitious, if you are ever cut to the heart as I was. He left me! The man I had disgraced myself for, deserted me on the day when I gave him the stolen money. He suspected it was stolen; he took care of his own cowardly self—and left me to the hard mercy of the law, if the theft was found out. What do you call that, in the way of punishment? Haven't I suffered? Haven't I made atonement? Be a Christian—say you forgive me.'

'I do forgive you.'

'Say you will pray for me.'

'I will.'

'Ah! that comforts me! Now you can go.'

Emily looked at her imploringly. 'Don't send me away, knowing no more of the murder than I knew when I came here! Is there nothing, really nothing, you can tell me?'

Mrs. Rook pointed to the door.

'Haven't I told you already? Go downstairs, and see the wretch who escaped in the dawn of the morning!'

'Gently, ma'am, gently! You're talking too loud,' cried a mocking voice from outside.

'It's only the doctor,' said Mrs. Rook. She crossed her hands over her bosom with a deep-drawn sigh. 'I want no doctor, now. My peace is made with my Maker. I'm ready for death; I'm fit for Heaven. Go away! go away!'

CHAPTER LXII. DOWNSTAIRS.

In a moment more, the doctor came in—a brisk, smiling, self-sufficient man—smartly dressed, with a flower in his button-hole. A stifling odor of musk filled the room, as he drew out his handkerchief with a flourish, and wiped his forehead.

'Plenty of hard work in my line, just now,' he said. 'Hullo, Mrs. Rook! somebody has been allowing you to excite yourself. I heard you, before I opened the door. Have you been encouraging her to talk?' he asked, turning to Emily, and shaking his finger at her with an air of facetious remonstrance.