Mr. Prendergast had given himself two days to do all that was to be done, before he told Herbert Fitzgerald the whole of the family history. He had promised that he would then let him know all that there was to be known; and he had done so advisedly, considering that it would be manifestly unjust to leave him in the dark an hour longer than was absolutely necessary. To expect that Sir Thomas himself should, with his own breath and his own words, make the revelation either to his son or to his wife, was to expect a manifest impossibility. He would, altogether, have sank under such an effort, as he had already sank under the effort of telling it to Mr. Prendergast; nor could it be left to the judgment of Sir Thomas to say when the story should be told. He had now absolutely abandoned all judgment in the matter. He had placed himself in the hands of a friend, and he now expected that that friend should do all that there was to be done. Mr. Prendergast had therefore felt himself justified in making this promise.

But how was he to set about the necessary intervening work, and how pass the intervening hours? It had already been decided that Mr. Abraham Mollett, when he called, should be shown, as usual, into the study, but that he should there find himself confronted, not with Sir Thomas, but with Mr. Prendergast. But there was some doubt whether or no Mr. Mollett would come. It might be that he had means of ascertaining what strangers arrived at Castle Richmond; and it might be, that he would, under the present circumstances, think it expedient to stay away. This visit, however, was not to take place till the second day after that on which Mr. Prendergast had heard the story; and, in the meantime, he had that examination of Mrs. Jones to arrange and conduct.

The breakfast was again very sad. The girls suggested to their brother that he and Mr. Prendergast should sit together by themselves in a small breakfast parlour, but to this he would not assent. Nothing could be more difficult or embarrassing than a conversation between himself and that gentleman, and he moreover was unwilling to let it be thought in the household that affairs were going utterly wrong in the family. On this matter he need hardly have disturbed himself, for the household was fully convinced that things were going very wrong. Maid-servants and men-servants can read the meaning of heavy brows and sad faces, of long meetings and whispered consultations, as well as their betters. The two girls, therefore, and Aunt Letty, appeared at the breakfast-table, but it was as though so many ghosts had assembled round the urn.

Immediately after breakfast, Mr. Prendergast applied to Aunt Letty. "Miss Fitzgerald," said he, "I think you have an old servant of the name of Jones living here."

"Yes, sure," said Aunt Letty. "She was living with my sister-in-law before her marriage."

"Exactly,—and ever since too, I believe," said Mr. Prendergast, with a lawyer\'s instinctive desire to divert suspicion from the true point.

"Oh yes, always; Mrs. Jones is quite one of ourselves."

"Then would you do me the favour to beg Mrs. Jones to oblige me with her company for half an hour or so. There is an excellent fire in my room, and perhaps Mrs. Jones would not object to step there."

Aunt Letty promised that Mrs. Jones should be sent, merely suggesting the breakfast-parlour, instead of the bed-room; and to the breakfast-parlour Mr. Prendergast at once betook himself. "What can she know about the London property, or about the Irish property?" thought Aunt Letty, to herself; and then it occurred to her that, perhaps, all these troubles arose from some source altogether distinct from the property.

In about a quarter of an hour, a knock came to the breakfast-parlour door, and Mrs. Jones, having been duly summoned, entered the room with a very clean cap and apron, and with a very low curtsey. "Good morning, Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast; "pray take a seat;" and he pointed to an arm-chair that was comfortably placed near the fire, on the further side of the hearth-rug. Mrs. Jones sat herself down, crossed her hands on her lap, and looked the very personification of meek obedience.

And yet there was something about her which seemed to justify the soubriquet of duchess, which the girls had given to her. She had a certain grandeur about her cap, and a majestical set about the skirt of her dress, and a rigour in the lines of her mouth, which indicated a habit of command, and a confidence in her own dignity, which might be supposed to be the very clearest attribute of duchessdom.

"You have been in this family a long time, I am told, Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast, using his pleasantest voice.

"A very long time indeed," said Mrs. Jones.

"And in a very confidential situation, too. I am told by Sir Thomas that pretty nearly the whole management of the house is left in your hands?"

"Sir Thomas is very kind, sir; Sir Thomas always was very kind,—poor gentleman!"

"Poor gentleman, indeed! you may well say that, Mrs. Jones. This family is in great affliction; you are no doubt aware of that." And Mr. Prendergast as he spoke got up, went to the door, and saw that it was firmly closed.

Mrs. Jones acknowledged that she was aware of it. "It was impossible," she said, "for servants to shut their eyes to things, if they tried ever so."

"Of course, of course," said Mr. Prendergast; "and particularly for a person so attached to them all as you are."

"Well, Mr. Pendrergrass, I am attached to them, certainly. I have seed \'em all born, sir—that is, the young ladies and Mr. Herbert. And as for her ladyship, I didn\'t see her born, in course, for we\'re both of an age. But it comes much to the same thing, like."

"Exactly, exactly; you are quite one of themselves, as Sir Thomas\'s sister said to me just now. \'Mrs. Jones is quite one of ourselves.\' Those were her very words."

"I\'m sure I\'m much obliged to Miss Letty."

"Well, as I was saying, a great sorrow has come upon them all, Mrs. Jones. Now will you tell me this—do you know what it is? Can you guess at all? Do the servants know, down stairs?"

"I\'d rather not be guessing on any such matters, Mr. Pendrergrass. And as for them, if they were impudent enough for the like, they\'d never dare to tell me. Them Irish servants is very impudent betimes, only they\'re good at the heart too, and there isn\'t one\'d hurt a dog belonging to the family."

"I am sure they would not," said Mr. Prendergast. "But you yourself, you don\'t know what this trouble is?"

"Not a know," said Mrs. Jones, looking down and smoothing her apron.

"Well, now. Of course you understand, Mrs. Jones—and I must explain this to you to account for my questions. Of course you understand that I am here as Sir Thomas\'s friend, to set certain matters right for him if I can."

"I supposed as much as that, if you please, sir."

"And any questions that I may ask you, I ask altogether on his behalf—on his behalf and on that of his wife, Lady Fitzgerald. I tell you, that you may have no scruples as to answering me."

"Oh, sir, I have no scruples as to that. But of course, sir, in anything I say I must be guided by—by—"

"By your own judgment you were going to say."

"Yes, sir; begging pardon for mentioning such a thing to the likes of you, sir."

"Quite right; quite right. Everybody should use their own judgment in everything they do or say, more or less. But now, Mrs. Jones, I want to know this: you remember her ladyship\'s first marriage, I dare say."

"Yes, sir, I remember it," said Mrs. Jones, shaking her head.

"It was a sad affair, wasn\'t it? I remember it well, though I was very young then. So were you too, Mrs. Jones."

"Young enough, surely, sir; and foolish enough too. We were the most of us that, then, sir."

"True, true; so we were. But you remember the man, don\'t you—her ladyship\'s husband? Mr. Talbot, he called himself." And Mr. Prendergast took some trouble to look as though he did not at all wish to frighten her.

"Yes, I do remember him." This she said after a considerable pause. "But it is a very long time ago, you know, Mr. Pendrergrass."

"A very long time. But I am sure you do remember. You lived in the house, you know, for some months."

"Yes, I did. He was my master for three months, or thereabouts; and to tell the truth, I never got my wages for those three months yet. But that\'s neither here nor there."

"Do you believe now, Mrs. Jones, that that Mr. Talbot is still alive?" He asked the question in a very soft voice, and endeavoured not to startle her by his look as he did so. But it was necessary to his purpose that he should keep his eye upon her. Half the answer to his question was to be conveyed by the effect on the muscles of her face which that question would produce. She might perhaps command her voice to tell a falsehood, but be unable to command her face to support it.

"Believe what, sir?" said she, and the lawyer could immediately perceive that she did believe and probably knew that that man who had called himself Talbot was still alive.

"Do you believe, Mrs. Jones, that he is alive—her ladyship\'s former husband, you know?"

The question was so terrible in its nature, that Mrs. Jones absolutely shook under it. Did she think that that man was still alive? Why, if she thought that what was she to think of her ladyship? It was in that manner that she would have answered the question, had she known how; but she did not know; she had therefore to look about her for some other words which might be equally evasive. Those which she selected served her turn just as well. "Lord bless you, sir!" she said. It was not that the words were expressive, but the tone was decidedly so. It was as though she said, "How can that man be alive, who has been dead these twenty years and more?" But nevertheless, she was giving evidence all the time against the cause of her poor mistress.

"You think, then, that he is dead?"

"Dead, sir! Oh, laws! why shouldn\'t he be dead?" And then there was a pause between them for a couple of minutes.

"Mrs. Jones," said Mr. Prendergast, when he had well considered the matter, "my belief is that your only object and wish is to do good to your master and mistress."

"Surely, sir, surely; it would be my bounden duty to do them good, if I knew how."

"I will tell you how. Speak out to me the whole truth openly and freely. I am here as the friend of Sir Thomas and of her ladyship. He has sent to me that I may advise him what to do in a great trouble that has befallen him, and I cannot give him good advice till I know the truth."

"What good could it do him, poor gentleman, to know that that man is alive?"

"It will do him good to know the truth; to know whether he be alive or no. Until he knows that he cannot act properly."

"Poor gentleman! poor gentleman!" said Mrs. Jones, putting her handkerchief up to her eyes.

"If you have any information in this matter—and I think you have, Mrs. Jones—or even any suspicion, it is your duty to tell me."

"Well, sir, I\'m sure I don\'t say against that. You are Sir Thomas\'s friend to be sure, and no doubt you know best. And I\'m a poor ignorant woman. But to speak candidly, sir, I don\'t feel myself free to talk on this matter. I haven\'t never made nor marred since I\'ve been in this family, not in such matters as them. What I\'ve seed, I\'ve kep\' to myself, and when I\'ve had my suspecs, as a woman can\'t but have \'em, I\'ve kep\' them to myself also. And saving your presence, sir, and meaning no offence to a gentleman like you," and here she got up from her chair and made another curtsey, "I think I\'d liefer hold my tongue than say anything more on this matter." And then she remained standing as though she expected permission to retire.

But there was still another pause, and Mr. Prendergast sat looking at the fire. "Don\'t you know, ma\'am," at last he said, with almost an angry voice, "that the man was here, in this house, last week?" And now he turned round at her and looked her full in the face. He did not, however, know Mrs. Jones. It might be difficult to coax her into free communication, but it was altogether out of his power to frighten her into it.

"What I knows, sir, I knows," said she, "and what I don\'t know, I don\'t know. And if you please, sir, Lady Fitzgerald—she\'s my missus; and if I\'m to be said anything more to about this here matter, why, I\'d choose that her ladyship should be by." And then she made a little motion as though to walk towards the door, but Mr. Prendergast managed to stop her.

"But we want to spare Lady Fitzgerald, if we can—at any rate for a while," said he. "You would not wish to bring more sorrow upon her, would you?"

"God forbid, Mr. Pendrergrass; and if I could take the sorrow from her heart, I would willingly, and bear it myself to the grave; for her ladyship has been a good lady to me. But no good never did come, and never will, of servants talking of their missusses. And so if you please, sir, I\'ll make bold to"—and again she made an attempt to reach the door.

But Mr. Prendergast was not yet persuaded that he could not get from the good old woman the information that he wanted, and he was persuaded that she had the information if only she could be prevailed upon to impart it. So he again stopped her, though on this occasion she made some slight attempt to pass him by as she did so. "I don\'t think," said she, "that there will be much use in my staying here longer."

"Wait half a minute, Mrs. Jones, just half a minute. If I could only make you understand how we are all circumstanced here. And I tell you what; though you will trust me with nothing, I will trust you with everything."

"I don\'t want no trust, sir; not about all this."

"But listen to me. Sir Thomas has reason to believe—nay, he feels quite sure—that this man is alive."

"Poor gentleman! poor gentleman!"

"And has been here in this house two or three times within the last month. Sir Thomas is full sure of this. Now can you tell me whether the man who did come was this Talbot, or was not? If you can answer that positively, either one way or the other, you will do a service to the whole family,—which shall not go unrewarded."

"I don\'t want no reward, sir. Ask me to tattle of them for rewards, after thirty years!" And she put her apron up to her eyes.

"Well, then, for the good of the family. Can you say positively that the man who came here to your master was Talbot, or that he was not?"

"Indeed then, sir, I can\'t say anything positively, nor for that matter, not impositively either." And then she shut herself up doggedly, and sat with compressed lips, determined to resist all the lawyer\'s arts.

Mr. Prendergast did not immediately give up the game, but he failed in learning from her any more than what she had already told him. He felt confident that she did know the secret of this man\'s existence and presence in the south of Ireland, but he was forced to satisfy himself with that conviction. So he let her go, giving her his hand as she went in token of respect, and receiving her demure curtsey with his kindest smile. "It may be," thought he to himself, "that I have not done with her yet."

And then he passed another tedious day,—a day that was terribly tedious to them all. He paid a visit to Sir Thomas; but as that arrangement about Mollett\'s visit had been made between them, it was not necessary that anything should be done or said about the business on hand. It was understood that further action was to be stayed till that visit was over, and therefore for the present he had nothing to say to Sir Thomas. He did not see Lady Fitzgerald throughout the whole day, and it appeared to him, not unnaturally, that she purposely kept out of his way, anticipating evil from his coming. He took a walk with Herbert and Mr. Somers, and was driven as far as the soup-kitchen and mill at Berry Hill, inquiring into the state of the poor, or rather pretending to inquire. It was a pretence with them all, for at the present moment their minds were intent on other things. And then there was that terrible dinner, that mockery of a meal, at which the three ladies were constrained to appear, but at which they found it impossible to eat or to speak. Mr. Somers had been asked to join the party, so that the scene after dinner might be less painful; but even he felt that he could not talk as was his ordinary wont. Horrible suspicions of the truth had gradually come upon him; and with a suspicion of such a truth—of such a tragedy in the very household—how could he, or how could any one hold a conversation? and then at about half-past nine, Mr. Prendergast was again in his bed-room.

On the next morning he was early with Sir Thomas, persuading him to relinquish altogether the use of his study for that day. On that evening they were to have another interview there, in which Mr. Prendergast was to tell his friend the result of what had been done. And then he had to arrange certain man?uvring with the servants in which he was forced to obtain the assistance of Herbert. Mollett was to be introduced into the study immediately on his arrival, and this was to be done in such a manner that Mrs. Jones might assuredly be ignorant of his arrival. On this duty our old friend Richard was employed, and it was contrived that Mrs. Jones should be kept upstairs with her mistress. All this was difficult enough, but he could not explain even to Herbert the reason why such scheming was necessary. Herbert, however, obeyed in silence, knowing that something dreadful was about to fall on them.

Immediately after breakfast Mr. Prendergast betook himself to the study, and there remained with his London newspaper in his hand. A dozen times he began a leading article, in which the law was laid down with great perspicuity and certainty as to the present state of Ireland; but had the writer been treating of the Sandwich Islands he could not have attracted less of his attention. He found it impossible to read. On that evening he would have to reveal to Herbert Fitzgerald what was to be his fate!

Matthew Mollett at his last interview with Sir Thomas had promised to call on this day, and had been counting the days till that one should arrive on which he might keep his promise. He was terribly in want of cas............