Alban returned to Netherwoods--to continue his services, untilanother master could be found to take his place.

By a later train Miss Ladd followed him. Emily was too well awareof the importance of the mistress's presence to the well-being ofthe school, to permit her to remain at the cottage. It wasunderstood that they were to correspond, and that Emily's roomwas waiting for her at Netherwoods, whenever she felt inclined tooccupy it

Mrs. Ellmother made the tea, that evening, earlier than usual.Being alone again with Emily, it struck her that she might takeadvantage of her position to say a word in Alban's favor. She hadchosen her time unfortunately. The moment she pronounced thename, Emily checked her by a look, and spoke of anotherperson--that person being Miss Jethro.

Mrs. Ellmother at once entered her protest, in her own downrightway. "Whatever you do," she said, "don't go back to that! Whatdoes Miss Jethro matter to you?"

"I am more interested in her than you suppose--I happen to knowwhy she left the school."

"Begging your pardon, miss, that's quite impossible!"

"She left the school," Emily persisted, "for a serious reason.Miss Ladd discovered that she had used false references."

"Good Lord! who told you that?"

"You see I know it. I asked Miss Ladd how she got herinformation. She was bound by a promise never to mention theperson's name. I didn't say it to her--but I may say it to you. Iam afraid I have an idea of who the person was."

"No," Mrs. Ellmother obstinately asserted, "you can't possiblyknow who it was! How should you know?"

"Do you wish me to repeat what I heard in that room opposite,when my aunt was dying?"

"Drop it, Miss Emily! For God's sake, drop it!"

"I can't drop it. It's dreadful to me to have suspicions of myaunt--and no better reason for them than what she said in a stateof delirium. Tell me, if you love me, was it her wandering fancy?or was it the truth?"

"As I hope to be saved, Miss Emily, I can only guess as you do--Idon't rightly know. My mistress trusted me half way, as it were.I'm afraid I have a rough tongue of my own sometimes. I offendedher--and from that time she kept her own counsel. What she did,she did in the dark, so far as I was concerned."

"How did you offend her?"

"I shall be obliged to speak of your father if I tell you how?"

"Speak of him."

"_He_ was not to blame--mind that!" Mrs. Ellmother saidearnestly. "If I wasn't certain of what I say now you wouldn'tget a word out of me. Good harmless man--there's no denyingit--he _was_ in love with Miss Jethro! What's the matter?"

Emily was thinking of her memorable conversation with thedisgraced teacher on her last night at school. "Nothing" sheanswered. "Go on."

"If he had not tried to keep it secret from us, "Mrs. Ellmotherresumed, "your aunt might never have taken it into her head thathe was entangled in a love affair of the shameful sort. I don'tdeny that I helped her in her inquiries; but it was only becauseI felt sure from the first that the more she discovered the morecertainly my master's innocence would show itself. He used to goaway and visit Miss Jethro privately. In the time when your aunttrusted me, we never could find out where. She made thatdiscovery afterward for herself (I can't tell you how longafterward); and she spent money in employing mean wretches to pryinto Miss Jethro's past life. She had (if you will excuse me forsaying it) an old maid's hatred of the handsome young woman, wholured your father away from home, and set up a secret (in amanner of speaking) between her brother and herself. I won't tellyou how we looked at letters and other things which he forgot toleave under lock and key. I will only say there was one bit, in ajournal he kept, which made me ashamed of myself. I read it outto Miss Letitia; and I told her in so many words, not to countany more on me. No; I haven't got a copy of the words--I canremember them without a copy. 'Even if my religion did not forbidme to peril my soul by leading a life of sin with this woman whomI love'--that was how it began--'the thought of my daughter wouldkeep me pure. No conduct of mine shall ever make me unworthy ofmy child's affection and respect.' There! I'm making you cry; Iwon't stay here any longer. All that I had to say has been said.Nobody but Miss Ladd knows for certain whether your aunt wasinnocent or guilty in the matter of Miss Jethro's disgrace.Please to excuse me; my work's waiting downstairs."

From time to time, as she pursued her domestic labors, Mrs.Ellmother thought of Mirabel. Hours on hours had passed--and thedoctor had not appeared. Was he too busy to spare even a fewminutes of his time? Or had the handsome little gentleman, afterpromising so fairly, failed to perform his errand? This lastdoubt wronged Mirabel. He had engaged to return to the doctor'shouse; and he kept his word.

Doctor Allday was at home again, and was seeing patients.Introduced in his turn, Mirabel had no reason to complain of hisreception. At the same time, after he had stated the object ofhis visit, something odd began to show itself in the doctor'smanner.

He looked at Mirabel with an appearance of uneasy curiosity; andhe contrived an excuse for altering the visitor's position in theroom, so that the light fell full on Mirabel's face.

"I fancy I must have seen you," the doctor said, "at some formertime."

"I am ashamed to say I don't remember it," Mirabel answered.

"Ah, very likely I'm wrong! I'll call on Miss Emily, sir, you maydepend on it."

Left in his consulting-room, Doctor Allday failed to ring thebell which summoned the next patient who was waiting for him. Hetook his diary from the table drawer, and turned to the dailyentries for the past month of July.

Arriving at the fifteenth day of the month, he glanced at thefirst lines of writing: "A visit from a mysterious lady, callingherself Miss Jethro. Our conference led to some very unexpectedresults."

No: that was not what he was in search of. He looked a littlelower down: and read on regularly, from that point, as follows:

"Called on Miss Emily, in great anxiety about the discoverieswhich she might make among her aunt's papers. Papers alldestroyed, thank God--except the Handbill, offering a reward fordiscovery of the murderer, which she found in the scrap-book.Gave her back the Handbill. Emily much surprised that the wretchshould have escaped, with such a careful description of himcirculated everywhere. She read the description aloud to me, inher nice clear voice: 'Supposed age between twenty-five andthirty years. A well-made man of small stature. Fai r complexion,delicate features, clear blue eyes. Hair light, and cut rathershort. Clean shaven, with the exception of narrowhalf-whiskers'--and so on. Emily at a loss to understand how thefugitive could disguise himself. Reminded her that he couldeffectually disguise his head and face (with time to help him) byletting his hair grow long, and cultivating his beard. Emily notconvinced, even by this self-evident view of the case. Changedthe subject."

The doctor put away his diary, and rang the bell.

"Curious," he thought. "That dandified little clergyman hascertainly reminded me of my discussion with Emily, more than twomonths since. Was it his flowing hair, I wonder? or his splendidbeard? Good God! suppose it should turn out--?"

He was interrupted by the appearance of his patient. Other ailingpeople followed. Doctor Allday's mind was professionally occupiedfor the rest of the evening.