"May I say a word?" Mrs. Mosey inquired. She entered theroom--pale and trembling. Seeing that ominous change, Emilydropped back into her chair.

"Dead?" she said faintly.

Mrs. Mosey looked at her in vacant surprise.

"I wish to say, miss, that your aunt has frightened me."

Even that vague allusion was enough for Emily.

"You need say no more," she replied. "I know but too well how myaunt's mind is affected by the fever."

Confused and frightened as she was, Mrs. Mosey still found reliefin her customary flow of words.

"Many and many a person have I nursed in fever," she announced."Many and many a person have I heard say strange things. Neveryet, miss, in all my experience--!"

"Don't tell me of it!" Emily interposed.

"Oh, but I _must_ tell you! In your own interests, Miss Emily--inyour own interests. I won't be inhuman enough to leave you alonein the house to-night; but if this delirium goes on, I must askyou to get another nurse. Shocking suspicions are lying in waitfor me in that bedroom, as it were. I can't resist them as Iought, if I go back again, and hear your aunt saying what she hasbeen saying for the last half hour and more. Mrs. Ellmother hasexpected impossibilities of me; and Mrs. Ellmother must take theconsequences. I don't say she didn't warn me--speaking, you willplease to understand, in the strictest confidence. 'Elizabeth,'she says, 'you know how wildly people talk in Miss Letitia'spresent condition. Pay no heed to it,' she says. 'Let it go in atone ear and out at the other,' she says. 'If Miss Emily asksquestions--you know nothing about it. If she's frightened--youknow nothing about it. If she bursts into fits of crying that aredreadful to see, pity her, poor thing, but take no notice.' Allvery well, and sounds like speaking out, doesn't it? Nothing ofthe sort! Mrs. Ellmother warns me to expect this, that, and theother. But there is one horrid thing (which I heard, mind, overand over again at your aunt's bedside) that she does _not_prepare me for; and that horrid thing is--Murder!"

At that last word, Mrs. Mosey dropped her voice to a whisper--andwaited to see what effect she had produced.

Sorely triedalready by the cruel perplexities of her position, Emily'scourage failed to resist the first sensation of horror, arousedin her by the climax of the nurse's hysterical narrative.Encouraged by her silence, Mrs. Mosey went on. She lifted onehand with theatrical solemnity--and luxuriously terrified herselfwith her own horrors.

"An inn, Miss Emily; a lonely inn, somewhere in the country; anda comfortless room at the inn, with a makeshift bed at one end ofit, and a makeshift bed at the other--I give you my word ofhonor, that was how your aunt put it. She spoke of two men next;two men asleep (you understand) in the two beds. I think shecalled them 'gentlemen'; but I can't be sure, and I wouldn'tdeceive you--you know I wouldn't deceive you, for the world. MissLetitia muttered and mumbled, poor soul. I own I was gettingtired of listening--when she burst out plain again, in that onehorrid word--Oh, miss, don't be impatient! don't interrupt me!"

Emily did interrupt, nevertheless. In some degree at least shehad recovered herself. "No more of it!" she said--"I won't hear aword more."

But Mrs. Mosey was too resolutely bent on asserting her ownimportance, by making the most of the alarm that she hadsuffered, to be repressed by any ordinary method of remonstrance.Without paying the slightest attention to what Emily had said,she went on again more loudly and more excitably than ever.

"Listen, miss--listen! The dreadful part of it is to come; youhaven't heard about the two gentlemen yet. One of them wasmurdered--what do you think of that!--and the other (I heard youraunt say it, in so many words) committed the crime. Did MissLetitia fancy she was addressing a lot of people when _you_ werenursing her? She called out, like a person making publicproclamation, when I was in her room. 'Whoever you are, goodpeople' (she says), 'a hundred pounds reward, if you find therunaway murderer. Search everywhere for a poor weak womanishcreature, with rings on his little white hands. There's nothingabout him like a man, except his voice--a fine round voice.You'll know him, my friends--the wretch, the monster--you'll knowhim by his voice.' That was how she put it; I tell you again,that was how she put it. Did you hear her scream? Ah, my dearyoung lady, so much the better for you! 'O the horrid murder'(she says)--'hush it up!' I'll take my Bible oath before themagistrate," cried Mrs. Mosey, starting out of her chair, "youraunt said, 'Hush it up!'"

Emily crossed the room. The energy of her character was roused atlast. She seized the foolish woman by the shoulders, forced herback in the chair, and looked her straight in the face withoututtering a word.

For the moment, Mrs. Mosey was petrified. She had fullyexpected--having reached the end of her terrible story--to findEmily at her feet, entreating her not to carry out her intentionof leaving the cottage the next morning; and she had determined,after her sense of her own importance had been sufficientlyflattered, to grant the prayer of the helpless young lady. Thosewere her anticipations--and how had they been fulfilled? She hadbeen treated like a mad woman in a state of revolt!

"How dare you assault me?" she asked piteously. "You ought to beashamed of yourself. God knows I meant well."

"You are not the first person," Emily answered, quietly releasingher, "who has done wrong with the best intentions."

"I did my duty, miss, when I told you what your aunt said."

"You forgot your duty when you listened to what my aunt said."

"Allow me to explain myself."

"No: not a word more on _that_ subject shall pass between us.Remain here, if you please; I have something to suggest in yourown interests. Wait, and compose yourself."

The purpose which had taken a foremost place in Emily's mindrested on the firm foundation of her love and pity for her aunt.

Now that she had regained the power to think, she felt a hatefuldoubt pressed on her by Mrs. Mosey's disclosures. Having takenfor granted that there was a foundation in truth for what sheherself had heard in her aunt's room, could she reasonably resistthe conclusion that there must be a foundation in truth for whatMrs. Mosey had heard, under similar circumstances?

There was but one way of escaping from this dilemma--and Emilydeliberately took it. She turned her back on her own convictions;and persuaded herself that she had been in the wrong, when shehad attached importance to anything that her aunt had said, underthe influence of delirium. Having adopted this conclusion, sheresolved to face the prospect of a night's solitude by thedeath-bed--rather than permit Mrs. Mosey to have a secondopportunity of drawing her own inferences from what she mighthear in Miss Letitia's room.

"Do you mean to keep me waiting much longer, miss?"

"Not a moment longer, now you are composed again," Emilyanswered. "I have been thinking of what has happened; and I failto see any necessity for putting off your departure until thedoctor comes to-morrow morning. There is really no objection toyour leaving me to-night."

"I beg your pardon, miss; there _is_ an objection. I have alreadytold you I can't reconcile it to my conscience to leave you hereby yourself. I am not an inhuman woman," said Mrs. Mosey, puttingher handkerchief to her eyes--smitten with pity for herself.

Emily tried the effect of a conciliatory reply. "I am gratefulfor your kindness in offering to stay with me," she said.

"Very good of you, I'm sure," Mrs. Mosey answered ironically."But for all that, you persist in sending me away."

"I persist in thinking that there is no necessity for my keepingyou here until to-morrow."

"Oh, have it your own way! I am not reduced to forcing my companyon anybody."

Mrs. Mosey put her handkerchief in her pocket, and asserted herdignity. With head erect and slowly-marching steps she walked outof the room. Emily was left in the cottage, alone with her dyingaunt.