I Say No

slowly into whiteness. Emily was alarmed—he seemed to be on the point of fainting. She ran to the window to open it more widely.

'Pray don't trouble yourself,' he said, 'I am easily agitated by any sudden sensation—and I am a little overcome at this moment by my own happiness.'

'Let me give you a glass of wine.'

'Thank you—I don't need it indeed.'

'You really feel better?'

'I feel quite well again—and eager to hear how I can serve you.'

'It's a long story, Mr. Mirabel—and a dreadful story.'

'Dreadful?'

'Yes! Let me tell you first how you can serve me. I am in search of a man who has done me the cruelest wrong that one human creature can inflict on another. But the chances are all against me—I am only a woman; and I don't know how to take even the first step toward discovery.'

'You will know, when I guide you.'

He reminded her tenderly of what she might expect from him, and was rewarded by a grateful look. Seeing nothing, suspecting nothing, they advanced together nearer and nearer to the end.

'Once or twice,' Emily continued, 'I spoke to you of my poor father, when we were at Monksmoor—and I must speak of him again. You could have no interest in inquiring about a stranger—and you cannot have heard how he died.'

'Pardon me, I heard from Mr. Wyvil how he died.'

'You heard what I had told Mr. Wyvil,' Emily said: 'I was wrong.'

'Wrong!' Mirabel exclaimed, in a tone of courteous surprise. 'Was it not a sudden death?'

'It was a sudden death.'

'Caused by disease of the heart?'

'Caused by no disease. I have been deceived about my father's death—and I have only discovered it a few days since.'

At the impending moment of the frightful shock which she was innocently about to inflict on him, she stopped —doubtful whether it would be best to relate how the discovery had been made, or to pass at once to the result. Mirabel supposed that she had paused to control her agitation. He was so immeasurably far away from the faintest suspicion of what was coming that he exerted his ingenuity, in the hope of sparing her.

'I can anticipate the rest,' he said. 'Your sad loss has been caused by some fatal accident. Let us change the subject; tell me more of that man whom I must help you to find. It will only distress you to dwell on your father's death.'

'Distress me?' she repeated. 'His death maddens me!'

'Oh, don't say that!'

'Hear me! hear me! My father died murdered, at Zeeland—and the man you must help me to find is the wretch who killed him.'

She started to her feet with a cry of terror. Mirabel dropped from his chair senseless to the floor.

CHAPTER LIV. THE END OF THE FAINTING FIT.

Emily recovered her presence of mind. She opened the door, so as to make a draught of air in the room, and called for water. Returning to Mirabel, she loosened his cravat. Mrs. Ellmother came in, just in time to prevent her from committing a common error in the treatment of fainting persons, by raising Mirabel's head. The current of air, and the sprinkling of water over his face, soon produced their customary effect. 'He'll come round, directly,' Mrs. Ellmother remarked. 'Your aunt was sometimes taken with these swoons, miss; and I know something about them. He looks a poor weak creature, in spite of his big beard. Has anything frightened him?'

Emily little knew how correctly that chance guess had hit on the truth!

'Nothing can possibly have frightened him,' she replied; 'I am afraid he is in bad health. He turned suddenly pale while we were talking; and I thought he was going to be taken ill; he made light of it, and seemed to recover. Unfortunately, I was right; it was the threatening of a fainting fit—he dropped on the floor a minute afterward.'

A sigh fluttered over Mirabel's lips. His eyes opened, looked at Mrs. Ellmother in vacant terror, and closed again. Emily whispered to her to leave the room. The old woman smiled satirically as she opened the door—then looked back, with a sudden change of humor. To see the kind young mistress bending over the feeble little clergyman set her—by some strange association of ideas—thinking of Alban Morris. 'Ah,' she muttered to herself, on her way out, 'I call him a Man!'

There was wine in the sideboard—the wine which Emily had once already offered in vain. Mirabel drank it eagerly, this time. He looked round the room, as if he wished to be sure that they were alone. 'Have I fallen to a low place in your estimation?' he asked, smiling faintly. 'I am afraid you will think poorly enough of your new ally, after this?'

'I only think you should take more care of your health,' Emily replied, with sincere interest in his recovery. 'Let me leave you to rest on the sofa.'

He refused to remain at the cottage—he asked, with a sudden change to fretfulness, if she would let her servant get him a cab. She ventured to doubt whether he was quite strong enough yet to go away by himself. He reiterated, piteously reiterated, his request. A passing cab was stopped directly. Emily accompanied him to the gate. 'I know what to do,' he said, in a hurried absent way. 'Rest and a little tonic medicine will soon set me right.' The clammy coldness of his skin made Emily shudder, as they shook hands. 'You won't think the worse of me for