The nurse's curiosity, being a woman's curiosity, declined to wait.
'I'll help you with my eyes open,' she said; 'but I won't help you blindfold.'
'Oh, if I only had the use of my limbs!' groaned Mrs. Milroy. 'You wretch, if I could only do without you!'
'You have the use of your head,' retorted the impenetrable nurse. 'And you ought to know better than to trust me by halves, at this time of day.'
It was brutally put; but it was true—doubly true, after the opening of Miss Gwilt's letter. Mrs. Milroy gave way.
'What do you want to know?' she asked. 'Tell me, and leave me.'
'I want to know what you are writing to Mr. Armadale about?'
'About Miss Gwilt.'
'What has Mr. Armadale to do with you and Miss Gwilt?'
Mrs. Milroy held up the letter that had been returned to her by the authorities at the Post-office.
'Stoop,' she said. 'Miss Gwilt may be listening at the door. I'll whisper.'
The nurse stooped, with her eye on the door. 'You know that the postman went with this letter to Kingsdown Crescent?' said Mrs. Milroy. 'And you know that he found Mrs. Mandeville gone away, nobody could tell where?'
'Well,' whispered Rachel 'what next?'
'This, next. When Mr. Armadale gets the letter that I am going to write to him, he will follow the same road as the postman; and we'll see what happens when he knocks at Mrs. Mandeville's door.'
'How do you get him to the door?'
'I tell him to go to Miss Gwilt's reference.'
'Is he sweet on Miss Gwilt?'
'Yes.'
'Ah!' said the nurse. 'I see!'
III. THE BRINK OF DISCOVERY.
The morning of the interview between Mrs. Milroy and her daughter at the cottage was a morning of serious reflection for the squire at the great house.
Even Allan's easy-tempered nature had not been proof against the disturbing influences exercised on it by the events of the last three days. Midwinter's abrupt departure had vexed him; and Major Milroy's reception of his inquiries relating to Miss Gwilt weighed unpleasantly on his mind. Since his visit to the cottage, he had felt impatient and ill at ease, for the first time in his life, with everybody who came near him. Impatient with Pedgift Junior, who had called on the previous evening to announce his departure for London, on business, the next day, and to place his services at the disposal of his client; ill at ease with Miss Gwilt, at a secret meeting with her in the park that morning; and ill at ease in his own company, as he now sat moodily smoking in the solitude of his room. 'I can't live this sort of life much longer,' thought Allan. 'If nobody will help me to put the awkward question to Miss Gwilt, I must stumble on some way of putting it for myself.'
What way? The answer to that question was as hard to find as ever. Allan tried to stimulate his sluggish invention by walking up and down the room, and was disturbed by the appearance of the footman at the first turn.
'Now then! what is it?' he asked, impatiently.
'A letter, sir; and the person waits for an answer.'
Allan looked at the address. It was in a strange handwriting. He opened the letter, and a little note inclosed in it dropped to the ground. The note was directed, still in the strange handwriting, to 'Mrs. Mandeville, 18 Kingsdown Crescent, Bayswater. Favored by Mr. Armadale.' More and more surprised, Allan turned for information to the signature at the end of the letter. It was 'Anne Milroy.'
'Anne Milroy?' he repeated. 'It must be the major's wife. What can she possibly want with me?' By way of discovering what she wanted, Allan did at last what he might more wisely have done at first. He sat down to read the letter.
['Private.'] 'The Cottage, Monday.
'DEAR SIR—The name at the end of these lines will, I fear, recall to you a very rude return made on my part, some time since, for an act of neighborly kindness on yours. I can only say in excuse that I am a great sufferer, and that, if I was ill-tempered enough, in a moment of irritation under severe pain, to send back your present of fruit, I have regretted doing so ever since. Attribute this letter, if you please, to my desire to make some atonement, and to my wish to be of service to our good friend and landlord, if I possibly can.
'I have been informed of the question which you addressed to my husband, the day before yesterday, on the subject of Miss Gwilt. From all I have heard of you, I am quite sure that your anxiety to know more of this charming person than you know now is an anxiety proceeding from the most honorable motives. Believing this, I feel a woman's interest—incurable invalid as I am—in assisting you. If you are desirous of becoming acquainted with Miss Gwilt's family circumstances without directly appealing to Miss Gwilt herself, it rests with you to make the discovery; and I will tell you how.
'It so happens that, some few days since, I wrote privately to Miss Gwilt's reference on this very subject. I had long observed that my governess was singularly reluctant to speak of her family and her friends; and, without attributing her silence to other than perfectly proper motives, I felt it my duty to my daughter to make some inquiry on the subject. The answer that I have received is satisfactory as far as it goes. My correspondent informs me that Miss Gwilt's story is a very sad one, and that her own conduct throughout has been praiseworthy in the extreme. The circumstances (of a domestic nature, as I gather) are all plainly stated in a collection of letters now in the
