Dally wasted no time, but hurried to Mary’s room to listen for a few moments, and then steal into Leo’s, where she peered in for a moment, and then hurried out to return with a dustpan and brush and a duster. These she placed upon chair and floor to cover her appearance should Leo return; while, after a rummage in her pocket, she brought out a little key.

Before using this she darted to the window, and waited till she could see Leo going from the house, when, with rat-like action, she made for a chest of drawers, upon which stood a desk, opened it with the speed of one accustomed to the task, and lifting one side, thrust in her hand, to draw out a packet of letters tied with a ribbon.

The top one bore a postmark only two days old, and this the girl drew out, skimmed over as rapidly as her illiterate brain would allow, and as she read her countenance changed again and again.

“Ah!” she ejaculated, at last. “You would, would you?” and taking up a pencil from the tray, and a new envelope, she laboriously copied out what seemed to be an address.

Then, with a smile of triumph, she hurriedly refolded the letter and replaced it in the packet, thrust the newly addressed envelope in her bosom, re-locked the desk, and had hardly destroyed all signs of her action, when she heard a slight cough.

Dally ran more rat-like than ever to the place where the dustpan and brush lay, plumped down on her knees, and began to work with her back to the door, humming away in a low tone as busily as could be amongst the dust she raised.

“Dally!” cried Leo, opening the door.

“Yes, miss.”

“Oh, what a dreadful dust! You know I don’t like this unnecessary sweeping going on.”

“But it wanted doing so badly, miss, and you were gone out in the garden.”

“Yes, yes; but leave off, that’s a good girl, now. I want to sit down and read.”

“Yes, miss,” said Dally, hurriedly using the duster.

“Do you know where my brother has gone?”

“No, miss; don’t you?”

“No,” said Leo wearily.

“Oh, yes, I do, miss; he went to the Manor House, and then he come back to Miss Mary, and I think now he’s gone to King’s Hampton.”

“Oh,” said Leo wearily. “That will do; and don’t come to tidy up my room again without asking leave.”

“No, miss,” said Dally, retreating and going back to her own room, where she threw her housemaid’s utensils on the bed, and took out and read the address on the envelope, “Telacot’s Hotel, Craven Street, Strand.”

“Don’t you be afraid, miss,” she muttered, “I won’t tidy up your room again. Oh, what treachery there is in this world! But wait, my dear, and you shall see!”

She replaced the envelope, and stood thinking for a few moments before coming to a decision, and then —

“I haven’t been there dozens of time for gran’fa for nothing,” she said, half aloud. “I know, and I will.

“But suppose —

“He wouldn’t,” she said, after a pause. “They say he never comes out of his room except at night – I will.”

Five minutes after she was going down the garden ostensibly to pick that bunch of parsley, and to obtain it she went to the very bottom of the kitchen garden, and thence into the meadows, through which she almost ran till she reached the bottom of the Manor House grounds, and then, knowing the place as she had from childhood, she easily made her way, unseen, to the surgery, to be found by North.

Dally returned triumphantly, but she did not take the brandy to her grandfather, but deposited it in her box in the bedroom before going about her work as calmly as if she had nothing more important in her mind than dusters and brooms, and the keeping tidy of the portions of the Rectory within her province.

But nothing missed her piercing little eyes, which seemed to glitter as the various matters occurred, and in the intervals she packed a few necessaries in a large reticule bag, which she hung over the iron knob of her bedstead in company with her jacket and hat.

No servant could have been more attentive, or apparently innocent-looking as she stared at Joe Chegg, who, after helping Salis to bear North into the drawing-room, was relegated to the kitchen to be refreshed.

Joe stared hard at her with an indignant frown, as he slowly ground up masses of bread and cheese, and washed them down with copious draughts of ale.

But Joe’s frowns had no effect upon Dally, and her aspect was simplicity itself, as, after a time, he took to shaking his head at her solemnly, following up each shake of the head with a sigh, and then apparently easing his sufferings by an angry bite at the bread.

Each time Joe looked and frowned, Dally replied with a simple, innocent maiden’s round-eyed, wondering gaze, which seemed to ask why he did not speak and say what he had to say.

But Joe Chegg said nothing, only ate, and frowned, and shook his head till he had done; and after a time Dally, having nothing else to do, thrust a little plump hand right down a black stocking till her knuckles represented the heel which had been peering through a large hole, and then and there she began to make worsted trellis-work which looked to Joe Chegg very similar to what he had often done in wood.

The drawing-room bell rang, but before Dally could answer it, Salis appeared at the door.

“Don’t go away, Chegg, my lad,” he said. “I don’t know what visitors may come, and I should like you to hang about the place and watch.”

“Well, you see, sir,” said Joe sturdily, “there’s a man’s time.”

“Oh, yes,” said Salis, smiling; “you shall be paid double time.”

“For how long, sir?”

“Wait and see; and keep a good lookout about the premises.”

He said these words as he was leaving the kitchen door, and met Leo in the hall, directly after, with her handsome eyes looking at him inquiringly.

It was observable, too, in the kitchen that Dally’s countenance looked a little more intent and she bent a little more over her stocking, and began to hum as she darned, while Joe Chegg took up the ale mug, and, after looking into it meditatively, began to work the table-spoonful left at the bottom round and round as if he were preparing an experiment whose aim was to keep one little blot of froth right in the centre like a tiny island of foam in a small sea of beer.

“Yes; I’ll watch,” he said to the mug; “and it won’t be the first time. It arn’t much goes on as I don’t see.”

Dally hummed and ceased to look catlike in her quiescence, for her aspect was kittenish now, and her hum deepened every now and then into a purr.

“Strange things goes on in this here village,” continued Joe, gazing into the mug; “and I sees a deal of what young ladies and persons does.”

Daily’s purr would now have done credit to a Persian puss: it was so soft and pleasant and round.

“But of all the things as ever I’ve see o’ young ladies, I never see aught as ekalled the way as Miss Mary’s got strong and well.”

Dally hummed now, and her tones were those of a musical bee, while the trellis-work in the stocking grew and grew.

“Well,” said Joe, after getting the drop of froth to stand very high out of its beery-whirlpool, “I’m a-goin’ to play policeman now.”

He tossed the remainder of the beer into his throat, and set down the mug.

“There arn’t many jobs as comes amiss to me.”

He rose and walked out of the kitchen, and as Dally saw him from the window on his way round to the front, she gave her stocking-covered fist a dab down on the table and uttered an angry “Ugh!”

Joe Chegg was not playing policeman long before he ran to the front door and knocked.

“Mist – Salis, sir! Mist – Salis. Here’s one on ’em.”

Salis was with North, and did not hear, so that when a keen old gentleman with white hair alighted from a fly, it was to find the door barred by the sturdy young workman.

“Is Dr North here?”

“What do you want with Dr North?” cried Joe surlily.

“I am a medical man, my lad,” said the old gentleman, smiling. “I have come down from London to see him.”

“Yes, I thought you had,” said Joe; “and you can’t see him, so you may just go back, as the t’others have done before. Eh? Oh, I beg pardon, sir. I thought it was the wrong sort.”

For Salis, hearing the altercation, had hurried out, and a brief explanation had set all straight.

“Poor fellow, poor fellow!” said the doctor, after following Salis into his room and hearing an explanation of the case. “Overwrought, I suppose. Well, let’s see him.”

They went to the darkened drawing-room to pause at the door, the doctor making a sign to Salis to stay while he watched the patient, who was ignorant of his presence.

North was lying back on the sofa with his eyes nearly closed, and Mary seated near, holding his hand, and bent towards him as if listening to his breathing.

Suddenly he started – crying out wildly as his eyes opened with a dilated stare; but as he tried to rise, Mary’s soft white hand was laid upon his forehead, and he sank back with a sigh of restfulness; his eyes closed again, and he lay breathing calmly.

Salis looked at Mr Delton, but the old man did not stir. Here was the case developing itself before him, and he could not study it better than unobserved.

Salis was about to re-enter the room, when Dally came and summoned him by pulling his sleeve.

“What is it?” he said sharply, as he turned.

“Mrs Milt, to see you, sir.”

Salis hesitated.

“I will wait till you return,” whispered the old doctor. “I am well employed.”

Salis hurried to where the old housekeeper was waiting.

“I’ve just heard that master is here, sir,” cried the old woman excitedly. “Oh, I am thankful! I found these papers in the study, sir; they were in an envelope directed to me, sir, and this one for the doctor master knows in London.”

Salis uttered a cry of joy.

“Mr Delton is with your master,” he said.

Mrs Milt sighed.

“Let me go to him, sir, please.”

Salis signed to her to follow, and led the way to where North lay now as if asleep, with Mary’s hand held to his brow.

The old housekeeper stood for a few moments watching, and then drew back.

“No, sir,” she said; “I won’t disturb him. I haven’t seen him look like that for weeks.”

“And I will not disturb him,” said the old doctor. “Rest like that must be good.”

He followed Salis into the dining-room, where he sat down to read the communication North had written, and after studying it carefully for some time, he looked up to find the curate’s eyes fixed upon him intently.

“Well?”

“Well, Mr Salis, I think I can say a comforting word or two. By the way, I thought I would come on straight to you instead of calling first at the Manor House, and it is as well I did.”

“But the letter, sir – the letter from my poor friend?”

“Ah, yes, the letter,” said the old doctor dreamily. “I have read and studied it well.”

“And you think?”

“A great deal, my dear sir – a great deal; but I have not finished yet. A clear case of overtaxed brain. I should say that he had worked himself into a state of exhaustion, and then some shock must have occurred to destroy the tottering balance. Not a money trouble, for I think Mr North is well off. Not a love trouble, for judging from what I saw – ”

“You are mistaken in that, sir,” said Salis. “My poor friend suffered a grievous shock a short time since.”

“Ah! just as I expected. That is quite sufficient to account for it all.”

“But the future, sir? For goodness’ sake, speak! Your reticence tortures me.”

“I beg your pardon. I am thoughtful and slow, Mr Salis. Let me try and set you at rest. As far as I can judge without further study of the case, I should say that you need be under very little uneasiness.”

“You do not consider his case necessitates his being placed in a private asylum?”

“I should say the people who placed him in one deserved to be hanged. Well, no,” he added, smiling; “not so bad as that, but to be placed in a private asylum themselves.”

“Thank God!” said Salis fervently, and the tears stood in his eyes as he grasped the old doctor’s hands.

The evening was growing old as Mr Delton sat facing Salis in his study, nursing his knee, and calmly watching the curate smoking his one per diem cigar.

“No,” said the old man, smiling; “I rarely smoke now; but North was right; it is good for you. I don’t mind a bit. Pray go on.”

So Salis smoked and sat talking with the tea-things on the table.

Leo had begged to be excused. The excitement had upset her, she said, and she was in her room, where Dally had taken her up some tea, and paused for some moments on the landing, in the dark, to set the saucer down upon the large window sill, and as she bent over the tray a faint gurgling sound was heard, and click as of glass against glass.

The doctor had been in twice to see North, who was sleeping heavily, with Mary and the old housekeeper seated by him, the lamp being shaded and placed where the light could not trouble the patient; and, after a stormy day, all seemed to have settled down to calm repose.

“My dear sir,” said the doctor, “it is not the first time that Nature has performed a miracle of this kind. Your sister’s nervous excitement did what we doctors were unable to perform – triumphed over the inert muscles. They obeyed; the latent force was set in action, and she rose from her couch to go to her poor friend’s help – in time to save him from a very terrible fate, whether that fate was the private asylum, or that which he had evidently in mind. Poor fellow! I wish I had seen him sooner. No; it is better as it is, and he will say so when we have him once more himself.”

“Then you really do feel hopeful?”

“My dear Mr Salis,” said the old man, “if I am not wrong in my ideas, that sweet-faced lady in the next room will slowly and patiently repay our poor friend for unknowingly restoring her to a life of activity. She will bring him back to calm reason.”

“You think this?” said Salis hoarsely.

“Indeed I do. His long and lucid statement to me shows that in every point but one he was as sane as you or I. He had one little crotchet, due to the overstrain, and that will, I feel sure, with a little help, soon disappear. Mr Salis, take my word for it, you may be perfectly at rest.”

“Good heavens!” cried Salis, springing to his feet, for at that moment a wild shriek resounded through the house, followed by a heavy fall in the room above.

Volume Three – Chapter Twenty Two.
Missing the Mail Train

Ten o’clock had just struck, and the old tower was still vibrating, when Dally Watlock’s bedroom door was softly opened, and the little lady, clad in her tightly-fitting jacket and natty hat, came softly out, to stand upon the landing listening.

The lamp was burning on the hall table, and it sent up a faint yellow glow which shone strangely upon the girl’s face, as she stood listening to the murmur of voices proceeding from the curate’s study, and she could just make out a faint line of light coming from beneath the drawing-room door.

Dally went slowly and softly across the landing till she reached Leo’s door, where she paused to listen; but all was perfectly still, and stealing one gloved hand to the latch, she tried the door cautiously, but it did not yield, and though she tapped twice there was no response.

Dally drew her breath softly between her teeth, and uttered a low, vicious little laugh.

“Good night, dear,” she said softly; “it’ll be ten o’clock to-morrow when you wake, and then – we shall see!”

One of the stairs gave a loud warning creak as she stopped, bag in hand, holding on by the balustrade, and ready, rat-like, to dart back to her room should any one open the study door.

But the murmur of voices still went on, and Dally stole down the rest of the way to reach the hall, creep softly to a swing-door, and pass through into the neatly-kept kitchen, where a fire still glowed and a kettle sang its own particular song.

Dally closed the kitchen door after her, darted across the broad patch of warm light cast by the fire into the darkness of a scullery beyond, and closed a door after her to stand thinking.

“Craven Street, Strand,” she muttered. “Ten miles to King’s Hampton. Ten o’clock to half-past one; I can do it easy, and at ten o’clock to-morrow morning, my dear, we shall see!”

She said these words with a vicious little hiss, and the next minute two well-oiled bolts were shot, the key was turned, the door opened with a sharp crack, and then there was a rustle as Dally passed through, closed the door with a light click of the latch, and stood in the semi-darkness of a soft starlight night.

Drawing a long breath, as if to get a reserve of force, the girl stepped quickly along the path leading round to the front, passing as soon as she could on to the closely-cut lawn, and over it to the gate.

She had nearly reached it, bag in one hand and umbrella in the other, when she turned quickly round to see that she was not observed by any one in the curate’s study; and as she did so she plumped up against something hard and yet soft.

“Oh!” she involuntarily ejaculated, and she started back, as that which she had thumped against took a step forward, and she found that she was face to face with Joe Chegg.

“Where are you going?” he said sourly.

Dally was too much startled for a moment to speak. Then, recovering herself, she said shortly:

“What’s that to you?”

“Heverything,” replied Joe, in a low growl. “Parson said I was to look out about the place; and I’m a-looking. Where are you going?”

Dally drew her breath with a hiss. It was maddening to be stopped at a time like this, when every minute was of importance; and the mail train was always punctual at King’s Hampton at half-past one.

“D’yer hear?” said Joe. “Well, if you won’t answer me, come on to parson, and tell him.”

“No, no, Joe Chegg; don’t stop me, please,” she said softly. “Gran’fa’s ill, and I’m going to take him something.”

“At quarter arter ten, eh? No, you arn’t. Old Moredock went to bed at half-past eight, for I run down and looked in at his windy ’fore he drawed the blind. Yes, I run down and see.”

“What’s that got to do with it?” cried Dally. “How dare you stop me?”

“Parson said I was to look out.”

“Master didn’t tell you to stop me, you great stupid. Let me go by.”

“Nay, I shan’t,” said Joe. “You’re off on larks, and he arn’t here now.”

“Who isn’t here?” cried Dally.

“You know. He’s gone to London, where he’d better stop.”

Daily’s wrath hissed again, and she was about to say something angrily, but she dreaded a scene, and tried the other tack.

“Now, don’t be foolish, there’s a dear, good man,” she said softly. “I just want to go a little way.”

“Wi’ an umbrella and a bag, eh?” said Joe. “Parson Salis don’t know you’re off out, I know.”

“What nonsense, Joe!”

“Don’t you Joe me, ma’am; my name’s Mr Chegg, and you wouldn’t whisper and carny and be civil if you weren’t up to some games.”

“Oh, what a foolish man you are, Joe Chegg!”

“Oh, I am, arn’t I?” said Joe. “Always going up to the Hall of a night, eh? Gets out o’ my bedroom windy, and steals off to meet squires in vestry rooms, I do, don’t I?”

“Joe Chegg!”

“And carries on as no decent female would wi’ my missus’s young man.”

“Joe Chegg! Oh, please let me go by,” whispered Dally. “I want to go somewhere particular.”

“Then want’ll be your master, for you’re not going without parson says you are to. Come on and ask him.”

Joe caught her by the wrist, but she wrested it away, and nearly got through the gate, but he was too quick for her.

“That shows as you’re up to no good,” said Joe. “You wouldn’t fight against seeing your master if you weren’t off on the sly at half arter ten.”

“Half-past ten!” cried Dally. “It isn’t.”

At that moment the chimes ran out the half-hour, and Dally drew her breath hard, and made a desperate effort to pass; but this time Joe caught her round the waist and held her, avoiding a scratched face from the fact that the girl’s hands were gloved.

“How dare you?” she panted, ready to cry hysterically from vexation.

“I dare ’cause I’m told, and I don’t believe I did right in letting Miss Leo go.”

“What?”

Dally suddenly grew limp and ceased to struggle.

“I said I didn’t think I did right in letting Miss Leo go, but I didn’t like to stop her.”

“Miss Leo?” panted Dally. “When?”

“Hour and half ago.”

“It’s a story. She’s fast asleep in bed.”

“Where you ought to be,” said Joe. “So back you go.”

“It’s a story, I say,” panted Dally. “Miss Leo hasn’t been out of her room to-night.”

“Miss Leo went out of this here gate hour and half ago, just as I come back from your gran’father’s, and she arn’t come back.”

“Oh!”

Dally uttered a low, hoarse cry, and turning sharply round ran swiftly back to the place from which she had come, closely followed by Joe, in whose face the door was closed and the bolt slipped.

In another minute Dally had reached the landing, and was listening at Leo’s door, which she tried again.

All was still, and, her breath coming and going as if she were suppressing hysterical sobs, the girl ran into her bedroom, locked the door, threw bag, umbrella, hat and jacket on the bed, opened the window, crept out with wonderful activity, rolled down the sloping roof, dropped to the ground, and ran over the lawn to the summer-house.

Leo Salis had scaled that rustic edifice many a time with great agility, but her skill was poor in comparison with that of the sexton’s grandchild. In a few moments she was on the roof, and reaching up to Leo’s window, the casement yielding to her touch.

She uttered a low sob of rage and doubt now, as, without hesitation, she clambered in to run to the bed, and pass her hands over it.

Tenantless; and the cup of tea, heavily drugged with a solution of chloral, stood where it had been placed, untouched, upon the table.

Even then the girl was not convinced. She would not believe in the ill success of her plans, and that the handsome woman she despised was as keen of wit as herself.

She darted to the wardrobe.

Leo’s jacket was gone!

To another part of the room.

The hat she wore was missing!

Then for a moment the girl stood as if dumbfounded, as the thoughts crushed down upon her that even if she started now, and could get away, she would be too late to catch the London mail. Worse still: Leo must have caught the last up-train at twelve, and long before she could reach the great city, would have joined Tom Candlish at the place he had named in the note Dally herself had borne; and, though she had planned so well, her chances of being Lady Candlish were for ever gone.

She ground her teeth together and panted hoarsely, hardly able to breathe for the sobs which struggled for utterance.

“It isn’t true. It’s a trick!” she cried at last. “I won’t believe it! I’ll go and be there first, and then —

“Oh! what shall I do – what shall I do?” she cried hoarsely; and then, uttering a wild and passionate shriek of misery and despair, she threw herself heavily upon the floor, to tear at the carpet, like some savage creature, with tooth and nail.