It went sorely against the inclination of formal, correct Mrs. Scott, to furnish a comfortable breakfast to “such a jade as that seemed likely to prove; behavin’ in this style, which nobody on ’arth could account for;” but the gratification of her feminine curiosity was some reward for the outrage to her sensibilities, and she went with great expedition to carry the desired refreshments to the prisoners.
When we entered the attic, in the light of the rising sun, Miss Sullivan was sitting quietly on the edge of the mattresses, curling little Nora’s flaxen hair around her fingers. An obstinate reticence marked her looks and actions; she scarcely replied to any of Mrs. Scott’s inquiries—only, when the comfort of the child was concerned. For her she took some of the warm food and tea, quietly feeding the eager little girl, while we made a survey of her surroundings.
I now ascertained that a small skylight, hidden from outside view by the chimneys and ornamental work of the battlements, had given egress to the mysterious brightness which had hovered so frequently over the roof. The tenant of this great house had evidently arranged herself for the winter. She had chosen the attic as a place of greatest safety, in the case of parties entering the deserted dwelling for any purpose; here she had brought a tiny charcoal-furnace, used in the basement in summertime for the purpose of heating smoothing-irons, which she supplied with fuel from the stock left over in the cellar. The provisions left in the house had served her wants equally well. It was evident that by the exercise of extreme care and vigilance, leaving the house only in the darkness of the night, she might have remained here for a considerable longer time undisturbed in her novel seclusion, had not the light, which she had never ventured to burn until all was dark and silent in the little cottage, by chance first attracted the curiosity which led finally to discovery.
Mr. Burton took a cup of tea and a roll, brought to him there; and then, at his request, he was left alone with the silent woman, who sat there with resolute brows and lips firmly closed, as if locked over her thoughts.
“It will require all his diplomacy to wile her into a communicative mood,” was my decision, as I took a parting glance at her face. I was chilled with my night’s watching, and chilled more utterly by the words the detective had spoken to me as I watched; I returned to the cottage-fire, sitting there three hours, in a painful reverie, answering almost at random the remarks of the housekeeper.
At the close of the three hours, Mr. Burton came into the little dwelling, carrying Nora in his arms, who was stroking his cheek with her chubby hand, and followed by the sewing-girl, whose cheeks bore traces of tears, and whose hunted, defiant look had given place to a dejected, gentle expression.
“Mrs. Scott, I want you to do me a kindness,” he said, in his authoritative, persuasive manner, to which people seldom thought it worth while to object. “I want you to take care of Miss Sullivan and this little cousin of hers, until I send them word they are wanted. It may be today, or not for a week. In the meantime, if you have any sewing to be done for yourself or little Johnny, she will be glad to help you.”
“She’s welcome to stay, I’m sure,” said the woman, in a tone not quite so sure.
“Thank you. I knew I could ask a favor of you. Johnny, come here, and make Miss Nora’s acquaintance. I’m ready, Richard, if you are, to return to the village. Lenore will wonder what has become of us. Good morning, all.”
We walked away.
“Are you not afraid to leave that girl unguarded, after all the trouble she has given us?”
“She will stay there; she has promised me. If she chooses to run away, now, it is a matter of no consequence. I am perfectly, entirely convinced that she is innocent of any participation in the murder of Henry Moreland; or any knowledge of the murder—except, upon one point, I could use her testimony. I shall give my opinion to Mr. Argyll, with my grounds for it; if he chooses to arrest her, she will be there at the cottage. Richard, this affair has gone as far as it can! I shall tell Mr. Argyll, today, that I have withdrawn from it—that I give it up. But I am willing you should understand that I have not dropped it entirely—that I shall still retain my interest in it—still secretly pursue my investigations, which I believe I can carry on to the best advantage if all parties believe that I have given the matter up. Are you satisfied?”
“If I am not, what difference does it make? It is not for me to dictate your course. I believe that you think it is the best one.”
“I do. So will you some day, if we live to see the termination of this thing. In the meantime, I am your friend, Richard, whether I give any outward signs of friendship very soon or not. You are at liberty to devote yourself to the cause as ardently as ever—and if ever you wish to consult me, you will find me what you now know me.”
I felt strangely as we walked along together. He talked as if he thought some change were coming—as if things were to assume new
