I went down to the garden for the flowers as usual next morning, as I did not wish to make any palpable change in my arrangements; but before leaving the room I impressed upon Susan Dodd the necessity of remaining with her mistress during every moment of my absence, though I knew I had little need to counsel carefulness. Nothing was more unlikely than that Susan would neglect her duty for a moment.

Peter came again, as he had come to me on the previous morning. Again he lingered about me, as if he had something more to say, and could not take courage to say it. This time the strangeness of his manner aroused my curiosity, and I asked him if he had anything particular to say to me.

‘You must be quick, Peter, whatever it is,’ I said; ‘for I am in a great hurry to get back to Miss Darrell.’

‘There is something I want to say, miss,’ he answered, twisting his ragged straw hat round and round in his bony hands, in a nervous way — ‘something I should like to say, but I’m naught but a poor fondy, and don’t know how to begin. Only you’ve been very good to Peter, you see, miss, sending wine and such things when I was ill, and I ain’t afeard o’ you, as I am o’ some folks.’

‘The wine was not mine, Peter. Be quick, please; tell me what you want to say.’

‘I can’t come to it very easy, miss. It’s something awful-like to tell on.’

‘Something awful?’

The boy had looked round him with a cautious glance, and was now standing close to me, with his light blue eyes fixed upon my face in a very earnest way.

‘Speak out, Peter,’ I said; ‘you needn’t be afraid of me.’

‘It happened when I was ill, you see, miss, and I’ve sometimes thought as it might be no more than a dream. I had a many dreams while I were lying on that little bed in grandmother’s room, wicked dreams, and this might be one of them; and yet it’s real-like, and there isn’t the muddle in it that there is in the other dreams.’

‘What is it, Peter? O, pray, pray be quick!’

‘I’m a-coming to it, miss. Is it wicked for folks to kill theirselves?’

‘Is it wicked? Of course it is — desperately wicked; a sin that can never be repented of.’

‘Then I know one that’s going to do it.’

‘Who?’

‘Mrs. Darrell.’

He gave a solemn nod, and stood staring at me with wide-open awe-stricken eyes.

‘How do you know that?’

‘It was one dark night, when it was raining hard — I could hear it drip, drip, drip upon the roof just over where I was lying. It was when I was very bad, and lay still all day and couldn’t speak. But I knew what grandmother said to me, and I knew everything that was going on, though I didn’t seem to — that was the curious part of it. I had been asleep for a bit, and I woke up all of a sudden, and heard some one talking to grandmother in the next room — the door wasn’t wide open, only ajar. I shouldn’t have known who it was, for I’m not quick at telling voices, like other folks; but I heard grandmother call her Mrs. Darrell; and I heard the lady say that when one was sick and tired of life, and had no one left to live for, it was best to die; and grandmother laughed, and says yes, there wasn’t much to live for, leastways not for such as her. And then they talked a little more; and then by and by Mrs. Darrell asked her for some stuff — I didn’t hear the name of it, for Mrs. Darrell only whispered it. Grandmother says no, and stuck to it for a good time; but Mrs. Darrell offered her money, and then more and more money. She says it couldn’t matter whether she got the stuff from her or from any one else. She could get it easily enough, she says, in any large town. And she didn’t know as she should use it, she says. It was more likely than not she never would; but she wanted to have it by her, so as to feel she was able to put an end to her life, if ever it grew burdensome to her. “You’ll never use it against any one else?” says grandmother; and Mrs. Darrell says who was there she could use it against, and what harm need she wish to anybody; she was rich enough, and had nothing to gain from anybody’s death. So at last, after a deal of talk, grandmother gave her the stuff; and I heard her counting out money — I think it was a hundred pounds — and then she went away in the rain.’

I remembered that night upon which Mrs. Darrell had stayed out so long in the rain — the night that followed her stormy interview with Angus Egerton.

I told Peter that he had done quite right in telling me this, and begged him not to mention it to any one else until I gave him permission to do so. I went back to Milly’s room directly afterwards, and waited there for Mr. Hale’s coming.

While I was taking my breakfast, Mrs. Darrell came to make her usual inquiries. I ran into the dressing-room to meet her. While she was questioning me about the invalid, I saw her look at the table where the medicine had always been until that morning, and I knew that she missed the bottle.

After she had made her inquiries, she stood for a few moments hesitating, and then said abruptly,

‘I should like to see Mr. Hale when he comes this morning. I want to hear what he says about his patient. He will be here almost immediately, I suppose; so I will stay in Milly’s room till he comes.’

She went into the bedroom, bent over the invalid for a few minutes, talking in a gentle sympathetic voice, and then took her place by the bedside. It was evident to me that she had suspected something from the removal of the medicine, and that she intended to prevent my seeing Mr. Hale alone.

‘You took your medicine regularly last night, I suppose, Milly?’ she inquired presently, when I had seated myself at a little table by the window and was sipping my tea.

‘I don’t think you gave me quite so many doses last night, did you, Mary?’ said the invalid, in her feeble voice. ‘I fancy you were more merciful than usual.’

‘It was very wrong of Miss Crofton to neglect your medicine. Mr. Hale will be extremely angry when he hears of it.’

‘I do not think Milly will be much worse for the omission,’ I answered quietly.

After this we sat silently waiting for the doctor’s appearance. He came in about a quarter of an hour, and pronounced himself better pleased with his patient than he had been the night before. There had been a modification of the more troublesome symptoms of the fever towards morning.

I told him of my omission to give the medicine.

‘That was very wrong,’ he said.

‘Yet you see she had a better night, Mr. Hale. I suppose that medicine was intended to modify those attacks of sickness from which she has suffered so much?’

‘To prevent them altogether, if possible.’

‘That is very strange. It really appears to me that the medicine always increases the tendency to sickness.’

Mr. Hale shook his head impatiently.

‘You don’t know what you are talking about, Miss Crofton,’ he said.

‘May I say a few words to you alone, if you please?’

Mrs. Darrell ros............