I Say No

'If you think that I take an interest in her, too,' Miss Jethro interposed, 'you are perfectly right—I knew her father,' she added abruptly; the allusion to Emily having apparently reminded her of the question which she had hitherto declined to notice.

'In that case,' Doctor Allday proceeded, 'I want a word of advice. Won't you sit down?'

She took a chair in silence. An irregular movement in the lower part of her veil seemed to indicate that she was breathing with difficulty. The doctor observed her with close attention. 'Let me see my prescription again,' he said. Having added an ingredient, he handed it back with a word of explanation. 'Your nerves are more out of order than I supposed. The hardest disease to cure that I know of is—worry.'

The hint could hardly have been plainer; but it was lost on Miss Jethro. Whatever her troubles might be, her medical adviser was not made acquainted with them. Quietly folding up the prescription, she reminded him that he had proposed to ask her advice.

'In what way can I be of service to you?' she inquired.

'I am afraid I must try your patience,' the doctor acknowledged, 'if I am to answer that question plainly.'

With these prefatory words, he described the events that had followed Mrs. Mosey's appearance at the cottage. 'I am only doing justice to this foolish woman,' he continued, 'when I tell you that she came here, after she had left Miss Emily, and did her best to set matters right. I went to the poor girl directly—and I felt it my duty, after looking at her aunt, not to leave her alone for that night. When I got home the next morning, whom do you think I found waiting for me? Mrs. Ellmother!'

He stopped—in the expectation that Miss Jethro would express some surprise. Not a word passed her lips.

'Mrs. Ellmother's object was to ask how her mistress was going on,' the doctor proceeded. 'Every day while Miss Letitia still lived, she came here to make the same inquiry—without a word of explanation. On the day of the funeral, there she was at the church, dressed in deep mourning; and, as I can personally testify, crying bitterly. When the ceremony was over—can you believe it?—she slipped away before Miss Emily or I could speak to her. We have seen nothing more of her, and heard nothing more, from that time to this.'

He stopped again, the silent lady still listening without making any remark.

'Have you no opinion to express?' the doctor asked bluntly.

'I am waiting,' Miss Jethro answered.

'Waiting—for what?'

'I haven't heard yet, why you want my advice.'

Doctor Allday's observation of humanity had hitherto reckoned want of caution among the deficient moral qualities in the natures of women. He set down Miss Jethro as a remarkable exception to a general rule.

'I want you to advise me as to the right course to take with Miss Emily,' he said. 'She has assured me she attaches no serious importance to her aunt's wanderings, when the poor old lady's fever was at its worst. I don't doubt that she speaks the truth—but I have my own reasons for being afraid that she is deceiving herself. Will you bear this in mind?'

'Yes—if it's necessary.'

'In plain words, Miss Jethro, you think I am still wandering from the point. I have got to the point. Yesterday, Miss Emily told me that she hoped to be soon composed enough to examine the papers left by her aunt.'

Miss Jethro suddenly turned in her chair, and looked at Doctor Allday.

'Are you beginning to feel interested?' the doctor asked mischievously.

She neither acknowledged nor denied it. 'Go on'—was all she said.

'I don't know how you feel,' he proceeded; 'I am afraid of the discoveries which she may make; and I am strongly tempted to advise her to leave the proposed examination to her aunt's lawyer. Is there anything in your knowledge of Miss Emily's late father, which tells you that I am right?'

'Before I reply,' said Miss Jethro, 'it may not be amiss to let the young lady speak for herself.'

'How is she to do that?' the doctor asked.

Miss Jethro pointed to the writing table. 'Look there,' she said. 'You have not yet opened Miss Emily's letter.'

CHAPTER XVII. DOCTOR ALLDAY.

Absorbed in the effort to overcome his patient's reserve, the doctor had forgotten Emily's letter. He opened it immediately.

After reading the first sentence, he looked up with an expression of annoyance. 'She has begun the examination of the papers already,' he said.

'Then I can be of no further use to you,' Miss Jethro rejoined. She made a second attempt to leave the room.

Doctor Allday turned to the next page of the letter. 'Stop!' he cried. 'She has found something—and here it is.'

He held up a small printed Handbill, which had been placed between the first and second pages. 'Suppose you look at it?' he said.

'Whether I am interested in it or not?' Miss Jethro asked.

'You may be interested in what Miss Emily says about it in her letter.'

'Do you propose to show me her letter?'