A decent elderly woman was seated at the bedside. She rose, andspoke to Emily with a mingling of sorrow and confusion strikinglyexpressed on her face. "It isn't my fault," she said, "that Mrs.Rook receives you in this manner; I am obliged to humor her."

She drew aside, and showed Mrs. Rook with her head supported bymany pillows, and her face strangely hidden from view under aveil. Emily started back in horror. "Is her face injured?" sheasked.

Mrs. Rook answered the question herself. Her voice was low andweak; but she still spoke with the same nervous hurry ofarticulation which had been remarked by Alban Morris, on the daywhen she asked him to direct her to Netherwoods

"Not exactly injured," she explained; "but one's appearance is amatter of some anxiety even on one's death-bed. I am disfiguredby a thoughtless use of water, to bring me to when I had myfall--and I can't get at my toilet-things to put myself rightagain. I don't wish to shock you. Please excuse the veil."

Emily remembered the rouge on her cheeks, and the dye on herhair, when they had first seen each other at the school.Vanity--of all human frailties the longest-lived--still held itsfirmly-rooted place in this woman's nature; superior to tormentof conscience, unassailable by terror of death!

The good woman of the house waited a moment before she left theroom. "What shall I say," she asked, "if the clergyman comes?"

Mrs. Rook lifted her hand solemnly "Say," she answered, "that adying sinner is making atonement for sin. Say this young lady ispresent, by the decree of an all-wise Providence. No mortalcreature must disturb us." Her hand dropped back heavily on thebed. "Are we alone?" she asked.

"We are alone," Emily answered. "What made you scream just beforeI came in?"

"No! I can't allow you to remind me of that," Mrs. Rookprotested. "I must compose myself. Be quiet. Let me think."

Recovering her composure, she also recovered that sense ofenjoyment in talking of herself, which was one of the markedpeculiarities in her character.

"You will excuse me if I exhibit religion," she resumed. "My dearparents were exemplary people; I was most carefully brought up.Are you pious? Let us hope so."

Emily was once more reminded of the past.

The bygone time returned to her memory--the time when she hadaccepted Sir Jervis Redwood's offer of employment, and when Mrs.Rook had arrived at the school to be her traveling companion tothe North. The wretched creature had entirely forgotten her ownloose talk, after she had drunk Miss Ladd's good wine to the lastdrop in the bottle. As she was boasting now of her piety, so shehad boasted then of her lost faith and hope, and had mockinglydeclared her free-thinking opinions to be the result of herill-assorted marriage. Forgotten--all forgotten, in this latertime of pain and fear. Prostrate under the dread of death, herinnermost nature--stripped of the concealments of her laterlife--was revealed to view. The early religious training, atwhich she had scoffed in the insolence of health and strength,revealed its latent influence--intermitted, but a livinginfluence always from first to last. Mrs. Rook was tenderlymindful of her exemplary parents, and proud of exhibitingreligion, on the bed from which she was never to rise again.

"Did I tell you that I am a miserable sinner?" she asked, afteran interval of silence.

Emily could endure it no longer. "Say that to the clergyman," sheanswered--"not to me."

"Oh, but I must say it," Mrs. Rook insisted. "I _am_ a miserablesinner. Let me give you an instance of it," she continued, with ashameless relish of the memory of her own frailties. "I have beena drinker, in my time. Anything was welcome, when the fit was onme, as long as it got into my head. Like other persons in liquor,I sometimes talked of things that had better have been keptsecret. We bore that in mind--my old man and I---when we wereengaged by Sir Jervis. Miss Redwood wanted to put us in the nextbedroom to hers--a risk not to be run. I might have talked of themurder at the inn; and she might have heard me. Please to remarka curious thing. Whatever else I might let out, when I was in mycups, not a word about the pocketbook ever dropped from me. Youwill ask how I know it. My dear, I should have heard of it frommy husband, if I had let _that_ out--and he is as much in thedark as you are. Wonderful are the workings of the human mind, asthe poet says; and drink drowns care, as the proverb says. Butcan drink deliver a person from fear by day, and fear by night? Ibelieve, if I had dropped a word about the pocketbook, it wouldhave sobered me in an instant. Have you any remark to make onthis curious circumstance?"

Thus far, Emily had allowed the woman to ramble on, in the hopeof getting information which direct inquiry might fail toproduce. It was impossible, however, to pass over the allusion tothe pocketbook. After giving her time to recover from theexhaustion which her heavy breathing sufficiently revealed, Emilyput the question:

"Who did the pocketbook belong to?"

"Wait a little," said Mrs. Rook. "Everything in its right place,is my motto. I mustn't begin with the pocketbook. Why did I beginwith it? Do you think this veil on my face confuses me? Suppose Itake it off. But you must promise first--solemnly promise youwon't look at my face. How can I tell you about the murder (themurder is part of my confession, you know), with this lacetickling my skin? Go away--and stand there with your back to me.Thank you. Now I'll take it off. Ha! the air feels refreshing; Iknow what I am about. Good heavens, I have forgotten something! Ihave forgotten _him_. And after such a fright as he gave me! Didyou see him on the landing?"

"Who are you talking of?" Emily asked.

Mrs. Rook's failing voice sank lower still.

"Come closer," she said, "this must be whispered. Who am Italking of?" she repeated. "I am talking of the man who slept inthe other bed at the inn; the man who did the deed with his ownrazor. He was gone when I looked into the outhouse in the gray ofthe morning. Oh, I have done my duty! I have told Mr. Rook tokeep an eye on him downstairs. You haven't an idea how obstinateand stupid my husband is. He says I couldn't know the man,because I didn't see him. Ha! there's such a thing as hearing,when you don't see. I heard--and I knew it again."

Emily turned cold from head to foot.

"What did you know again?" she said.

"His voice," Mrs. Rook answered. "I'll swear to his voice beforeall the judges in England."

Emily rushed to the bed. She looked at the woman who had saidthose dreadful words, speechless with horror.

"You're breaking your promise!" cried Mrs. Rook. "You false girl,you're breaking your promise!"

She snatched at the veil, and put it on again. The sight of herface, momentary as it had been, reassured Emily. Her wild eyes,made wilder still by the blurred stains of rouge below them, halfwashed away--her disheveled hair, with streaks of gray showingthrough the dye--presented a spectacle which would have beengrotesque under other circumstances, but which now reminded Emilyof Mr. Rook's last words; warning her not to believe what hiswife said, and even declaring his conviction that her intellectwas deranged. Emily drew back from the bed, conscious of anoverpowering sense of self-reproach. Although it was only for amoment, she had allowed her faith in Mirabel to be shaken by awoman who was out of her mind.

"Try to forgive me," she said. "I didn't willfully break mypromise; you frightened me."

Mrs. Rook began to cry. "I was a handsome woman in my time," shemurmured. "You would say I was handsome still, if the clumsyfools about me had not spoiled my appearance. Oh, I do feel soweak! Where's my medicine?"

The bottle was on the table. Emily gave her the prescribed dose,and revived her failing strength.

"I am an extraordinary person," she resumed. "My resolution hasalways been the admiration of every one who knew me. But my mindfeels--how shall I express it?--a little vacant. Have mercy on mypoor wicked soul! Help me."

"How can I help you?"

"I want to recollect. Something happened in the summer time, whenwe were talking at Netherwoods. I mean when that impudent masterat the school showed his suspicions of me. (Lord! how hefrightened me, when he turned up afterward at Sir Jervis'shouse.) You must have seen yourself he suspected me. How did heshow it?"

"He showed you my locket," Emily answered.

"Oh, the horrid reminder of the murder!" Mrs. Rook exclaimed."_I_ didn't mention it: don't blame Me. You poor innocent, I havesomething dreadful to tell you."

Emily's horror of the woman forced her to speak. "Don't tell me!"she cried. "I know more than you suppose; I know what I wasignorant of when you saw the locket."

Mrs. Rook took offense at the interruption.

"Clever as you are, there's one thing you don't know," she said."You asked me, just now, who the pocketbook belonged to. Itbelonged to your father. What's the matter? Are you crying?"

Emily was thinking of her father. The pocketbook was the lastpresent she had given to him--a present on his birthday. "Is itlost?" she asked sadly.

"No; it's not lost. You will hear more of it directly. Dry youreyes, and expect something interesting--I'm going to talk aboutlove. Love, my dear, means myself. Why shouldn't it? I'm not theonly nice-looking woman, married to an old man, who has had alover."

"Wretch! what has that got to do with it?"

"Everything, you rude girl! My lover was like the rest of them;he would bet on race-horses, and he lost. He owned it to me, onthe day when your father came to our inn. He said, 'I must findthe money--or be off to America, and say good-by forever.' I wasfool enough to be fond of him. It broke my heart to hear him talkin that way. I said, 'If I find the money, and more than themoney, will you take me with you wherever you go?' Of course, hesaid Yes. I suppose you have heard of the inquest held at our oldplace by the coroner and jury? Oh, what idiots! They believed Iwas asleep on the night of the murder. I never closed my eyes--Iwas so miserable, I was so tempted."

"Tempted? What tempted you?"

"Do you think I had any money to spare? Your father's pocketbooktempted me. I had seen him open it, to pay his bill over-night.It was full of bank-notes. Oh, what an overpowering thing loveis! Perhaps you have known it yourself."

Emily's indignation once more got the better of her prudence."Have you no feeling of decency on your death-bed!" she said.

Mrs. Rook forgot her piety; she was ready with an impudentrejoinder. "You hot-headed little woman, your time will come,"she answered. "But you're right--I am wandering from the point; Iam not sufficiently sensible of this solemn occasion. By-the-by,do you notice my language? I inherit correct English from mymother--a cultivated person, who married beneath her. My paternalgrandfather was a gentleman. Did I tell you that there came atime, on that dreadful night, when I could stay in bed no longer?The pocketbook--I did nothing but think of that devilishpocketbook, full of bank-notes. My husband was fast asleep allthe time. I got a chair and stood on it. I looked into the placewhere the two men were sleeping, through the glass in the top ofthe door. Your father was awake; he was walking up and down theroom. What do you say? Was he agitated? I didn't notice. I don'tknow whether the other man was asleep or awake. I saw nothing butthe pocketbook stuck under the pillow, half in and half out. Yourfather kept on walking up and down. I thought to myself, 'I'llwait till he gets tired, and then I'll have another look at thepocketbook.' Where's the wine? The doctor said I might have aglass of wine when I wanted it."

Emily found the wine and gave it to her. She shuddered as sheaccidentally touched Mrs. Rook's hand.

The wine helped the sinking woman.

"I must have got up more than once," she resumed. "And more thanonce my heart must have failed me. I don't clearly remember whatI did, till the gray of the morning came. I think that must havebeen the last time I looked through the glass in the door."

She began to tremble. She tore the veil off her face. She criedout piteously, "Lord, be merciful to me a sinner! Come here," shesaid to Emily. "Where are you? No! I daren't tell you what I saw;I daren't tell you what I did. When you're pos sessed by thedevil, there's nothing, nothing, nothing you can't do! Where didI find the courage to unlock the door? Where did I find thecourage to go in? Any other woman would have lost her senses,when she found blood on her fingers after taking thepocketbook--"

Emily's head swam; her heart beat furiously--she staggered to thedoor, and opened it to escape from the room.

"I'm guilty of robbing him; but I'm innocent of his blood!" Mrs.Rook called after her wildly. "The deed was done--the yard doorwas wide open, and the man was gone--when I looked in for thelast time. Come back, come back!"

Emily looked round.

"I can't go near you," she said, faintly.

"Come near enough to see this."

She opened her bed-gown at the throat, and drew up a loop ofribbon over her head. 'The pocketbook was attached to the ribbon.She held it out.

"Your father's book," she said. "Won't you take your father'sbook?"

For a moment, and only for a moment, Emily was repelled by theprofanation associated with her birthday gift. Then, the lovingremembrance of the dear hands that had so often touched thatrelic, drew the faithful daughter back to the woman whom sheabhorred. Her eyes rested tenderly on the book. Before it hadlain in that guilty bosom, it had been _his_ book. The belovedmemory was all that was left to her now; the beloved memoryconsecrated it to her hand. She took the book.

"Open it," said Mrs. Rook.

There were two five-pound bank-notes in it.

"His?" Emily asked.

"No; mine--the little I have been able to save toward restoringwhat I stole."

"Oh!" Emily cried, "is there some good in this woman, after all?"

"There's no good in the woman!" Mrs. Rook answered desperately."There's nothing but fear--fear of hell now; fear of thepocketbook in the past time. Twice I tried to destroy it--andtwice it came back, to remind me of the duty that I owed to mymiserable soul. I tried to throw it into the fire. It struck thebar, and fell back into the fender at my feet. I went out, andcast it into the well. It came back again in the first bucket ofwater that was drawn up. From that moment, I began to save what Icould. Restitution! Atonement! I tell you the book found atongue--and those were the grand words it dinned in my ears,morning and night." She stooped to fetch her breath--stopped, andstruck her bosom. "I hid it here, so that no person should seeit, and no person take it from me. Superstition? Oh, yes,superstition! Shall tell you something? _You_ may find yourselfsuperstitious, if you are ever cut to the heart as I was. He leftme! The man I had disgraced myself for, deserted me on the daywhen I gave him the stolen money. He suspected it was stolen; hetook care of his own cowardly self--and left me to the hard mercyof the law, if the theft was found out. What do you call that, inthe way of punishment? Haven't I suffered? Haven't I madeatonement? Be a Christian--say you forgive me."

"I do forgive you."

"Say you will pray for me."

"I will."

"Ah! that comforts me! Now you can go."

Emily looked at her imploringly. "Don't send me away, knowing nomore of the murder than I knew when I came here! Is therenothing, really nothing, you can tell me?"

Mrs. Rook pointed to the door.

"Haven't I told you already? Go downstairs, and see the wretchwho escaped in the dawn of the morning!"

"Gently, ma'am, gently! You're talking too loud," cried a mockingvoice from outside.

"It's only the doctor," said Mrs. Rook. She crossed her handsover her bosom with a deep-drawn sigh. "I want no doctor, now. Mypeace is made with my Maker. I'm ready for death; I'm fit forHeaven. Go away! go away!"