'Perhaps, my love, she has spoken about us (not meaning any harm) to some friend of hers? Old ladies are so fond of gossip. It's just possible—don't you think so?'
Adela hung her head.
'I have thought it just possible myself,' she admitted. 'There is plenty of time to call on her to-day. I will set our doubts at rest before Miss Benshaw goes out for her afternoon drive.'
On that understanding they parted.
Toward evening Cosway's arrangements for the elopement were completed. He was eating his solitary dinner when a note was brought to him. It had been left at the door by a messenger. The man had gone away without waiting for an answer. The note ran thus:
'Miss Benshaw presents her compliments to Mr. Cosway, and will be obliged if he can call on her at nine o'clock this evening, on business which concerns himself.'
This invitation was evidently the result of Adela's visit earlier in the day. Cosway presented himself at the house, troubled by natural emotions of anxiety and suspense. His reception was not of a nature to compose him. He was shown into a darkened room. The one lamp on the table was turned down low, and the little light thus given was still further obscured by a shade. The corners of the room were in almost absolute darkness.
A voice out of one of the corners addressed him in a whisper:
'I must beg you to excuse the darkened room. I am suffering from a severe cold. My eyes are inflamed, and my throat is so bad that I can only speak in a whisper. Sit down, sir. I have got news for you.'
'Not bad news, I hope, ma'am?' Cosway ventured to inquire.
'The worst possible news,' said the whispering voice. 'You have an enemy striking at you in the dark.'
Cosway asked who it was, and received no answer. He varied the form of inquiry, and asked why the unnamed person struck at him in the dark. The experiment succeeded; he obtained a reply.
'It is reported to me,' said Miss Benshaw, 'that the person thinks it necessary to give you a lesson, and takes a spiteful pleasure in doing it as mischievously as possible. The person, as I happen to know, sent you your invitation to the party, and made the appointment which took you to the door in the lane. Wait a little, sir; I have not done yet. The person has put it into Mr. Restall's head to send his daughter abroad tomorrow.'
Cosway attempted to make her speak more plainly.
'Is this wretch a man or a woman?' he said.
Miss Benshaw proceeded without noticing the interruption.
'You needn't be afraid, Mr. Cosway; Miss Restall will not leave England. Your enemy is all-powerful. Your enemy's object could only be to provoke you into planning an elopement—and, your arrangements once completed, to inform Mr. Restall, and to part you and Miss Adela quite as effectually as if you were at opposite ends of the world. Oh, you will undoubtedly be parted! Spiteful, isn't it? And, what is worse, the mischief is as good as done already.'
Cosway rose from his chair.
'Do you wish for any further explanation?' asked Miss Benshaw.
'One thing more,' he replied. 'Does Adela know of this?'
'No,' said Miss Benshaw; 'it is left to you to tell her.'
There was a moment of silence. Cosway looked at the lamp. Once roused, as usual with men of his character, his temper was not to be trifled with.
'Miss Benshaw,' he said, 'I dare say you think me a fool; but I can draw my own conclusion, for all that.
The only reply was a chuckling laugh. All voices can be more or less effectually disguised by a whisper but a laugh carries the revelation of its own identity with it. Cosway suddenly threw off the shade over the lamp and turned up the wick.
The light flooded the room, and showed him—His Wife.
Three days had passed. Cosway sat alone in his lodging—pale and worn: the shadow already of his former self.
He had not seen Adela since the discovery. There was but one way in which he could venture to make the inevitable disclosure—he wrote to her; and Mr. Atherton's daughter took care that the letter should be received. Inquiries made afterward, by help of the same good friend, informed him that Miss Restall was suffering from illness.
The mistress of the house came in.
'Cheer up, sir,' said the good woman. 'There is better news of Miss Restall to-day.'
He raised his head.
'Don't trifle with me!' he answered fretfully; 'tell me exactly what the servant said.'
The mistress repeated the words. Miss Restall had passed a quieter night, and had been able for a few hours to leave her room. He asked next if any reply to his letter had arrived. No reply had been received.
If Adela definitely abstained from writing to him, the conclusion would be too plain to be mistaken. She had given him up—and who could blame her?
There was a knock at the street-door. The mistress looked out.
'Here's Mr. Stone come back, sir!' she exclaimed joyfully—and hurried away to let him in.
