Hester

these steps again. To retrace them now as she was doing, with her mother’s gentle talk in her ears, the occasional mild question which it was so easy to elude, the praises of Catherine which her supposed kindness called forth so easily, seemed an incredible thing. Mrs. John enjoyed the walk. It was seldom she went out in the morning, and the excitement of her daughter’s absence all night, of Catherine’s explanations, of the drawing together of some new and closer bond between Hester and the head of the Vernon society⁠—the most important person of all the kindred⁠—gave her a secret exhilaration. There had not been such a sensation in the Vernonry for months as that which had been caused that morning by the sight of Catherine’s well-known brougham, sent for Mrs. John! It might be that in future this would be no rare sight: it might be⁠—but the poor lady scarcely knew how to contain the satisfaction with which she saw the vista opening up before her of Hester’s promotion and favour with Catherine. Valuable information! She was proud of what seemed to her like the highest praise. She always knew that her Hester, so much superior as she was to other girls⁠—if Catherine but knew her as she deserved to be known. And then she asked with pleasant expectation⁠—

“What was the information, Hester, that you gave Catherine? I am so glad that you were able to tell her something she didn’t know. I was quite in a flutter when I got her note last night; but of course it was perfectly right for you to stay when she wished it. I shall tell her I am so much obliged to her for having taken such good care of you. It gave me quite a fright for the moment, but I soon got over it. And Emma, you know, went away at last by the night train.”

Thus Mrs. John diverted her own attention and never pressed a question. But it is impossible to tell how deserted, how silent, how far out of the world and life the little rooms at the Vernonry looked after the agitation of the night. Hester could not rest in them: the summer forenoon seemed a twelvemonth long. She could not take up any of her usual occupations. She was afraid to meet anyone, to be questioned perhaps more closely than her mother had questioned her. Her heart was away, it was not in this place. In the pauses of Mrs. John’s gentle talk she felt her own thoughts thronging upon her almost audibly. It seemed impossible that other people, that even her mother, unsuspicious as she was, should not find her out. And how slow, how slow were those sunshiny minutes, sixty of them in an hour! The time of the early dinner came, and again Hester turned from the food. Mrs. John began to be alarmed. “If it goes on like this I shall have to send for the doctor,” she said.

Hester hastened out as soon as the meal was over to escape from her mother’s comments. It seemed to her that she recognised some new knowledge in the keen glances of the sisters, and in Mr. Mildmay Vernon’s grin as he sat over his newspaper in the summerhouse. And she was afraid of the old Morgans, who had more insight. The surroundings of the house altogether were odious to her⁠—unnecessary things that had nothing to do with those real affairs and mysteries of living which were being solved elsewhere. She asked herself wistfully, whether it was not time for her to go back: though if Catherine had not returned, what could she do but cause suspicion if she went to the empty house? To be even in the empty house would be something⁠—it would be so much nearer the scene in which everything was going on. While she stood with her hand curved over her forehead looking out upon the road, with her eyes “busy in the distance shaping things that made her heart beat quick,” the old captain came up to her. She thought he was paler than usual, and his eyes were troubled. He had laid his hand on her shoulder before she heard his approach, so absorbed was she in her own thoughts. He took her by the arm in his fatherly way⁠—

“Come with me, Hester, and talk to my old woman,” he said.

It was with a great start that she turned to him, trembling with nervousness all unknown to the Hester of yesterday.

“Is she ill?” she cried, scarcely knowing what she said; and then with a vague smile, “I forgot. Emma is gone, and she is missing⁠—”

“It is not Emma we are thinking of. Hester, tell me,” said the old man, leading her away with her arm in his, “what is this about Catherine? What has happened? Your mother told us you were there all night, and now today⁠—”

“What do they say has happened?” cried Hester with a gasp of suspense.

“I cannot make head nor tail of it. I hear that one of the young men has gone wrong; that Catherine is at the bank; that there are great defalcations; that he went off last night⁠—I can testify,” cried Captain Morgan, querulously, “that he did not go away last night, for I was there.”

Hester looked up at him with a face from which all colour had fled.

“Is it known who it is? are you sure he has not come back? Oh, I have a feeling,” she cried, “a feeling in my heart that he has come back!”

“My child,” said the old captain, “you may trust her and me. Whatever it is, it is safe with her and me.”

Mrs. Morgan was sitting at the window in her summer place; her placid brow had a cloud upon it, but was not agitated like her husband’s.

“Have you come back to us, Hester?” she said. “We thought we had lost you. If you can satisfy his mind with anything you can say,