I "Mrs. Tams!" said Mrs. Maldon, in a low, alarmed, and urgent voice.
 
The gas was turned down in the bedroom, and Mrs. Maldon, looking from her bed across the chamber¹, could only just distinguish the stout², vague form of the charwoman asleep in an arm-chair. The light from the street lamp was strong enough to throw faint shadows of the window-frames on the blinds. The sleeper³ did not stir.
 
Mrs. Maldon summoned again, more loudly—
 
"Mrs. Tams!"
 
And Mrs. Tams, starting out of another world, replied with deprecation—
 
"Hey, hey!" as if saying: "I am here. I am fully⁴ awake and observant. Please remain calm."
 
Mrs. Maldon said agitatedly—
 
"I've just heard the front door open. I'm sure whoever it was was trying not to make a noise. There! Can't you hear anything?"
 
"That I canna'!" said Mrs. Tams.
 
"No!" Mrs. Maldon protested, as Mrs. Tams approached the gas to raise it. "Don't touch the gas. If anybody's got in let them think we're asleep."
 
The mystery of the vanished money and the fear of assassins seemed suddenly to oppress the very air of the room. Mrs. Maldon was leaning on one elbow in her bed.
 
Mrs. Tams said to her in a whisper—
 
"I mun go see."
 
"Please don't!" Mrs. Maldon entreated⁵.
 
"I mun go see," said Mrs. Tams.
 
She was afraid, but she conceived that she ought to examine the house, and no fear could have stopped her from going forth⁶ into the zone of danger.
 
The next moment she gave a short laugh, and said in her ordinary tone—
 
"Bless us! I shall be forgetting the nose on my face next. It's Miss Rachel coming in, of course."
 
"Miss Rachel coming in!" repeated Mrs. Maldon. "Has she been out? I was not aware. She said nothing—"
 
"Her came up a bit since, and said her had to do some shopping."
 
"Shopping! At this time of night!" murmured Mrs. Maldon.
 
Said Mrs. Tams laconically—
 
"To-morrow's Sunday—and pray God ye'll fancy a bite o' summat tasty."
 
While the two old women, equalized in rank by the fact of Mrs. Maldon's illness, by the sudden alarm, and by the darkness of the room, were thus conversing⁷, sounds came from the pavement through the slightly open windows—voices, and the squeak⁸ of the gate roughly pushed open.
 
"That's Miss Rachel now," said Mrs. Tams.
 
"Then who was it came in before?" Mrs. Maldon demanded.
 
There was the tread of rapid feet on the stone steps, and then the gate squeaked⁹ again.
 
Mrs. Tams went to the window and pulled aside the blind.
 
"Aye!" she announced simply. "It's Miss Rachel and Mr. Fores."
 
Mrs. Maldon caught her breath.
 
"You didn't tell me she was out with Mr. Fores," said Mrs. Maldon, stiffly but weakly.
 
"It's first I knew of it," Mrs. Tams replied, still spying over the pavement. "He's given her th' key. There! He's gone."
 
Mrs. Maldon muttered—
 
"The key? What key?"
 
"Th' latch-key belike."
 
"I must speak to Miss Rachel," breathed Mrs. Maldon in a voice of extreme and painful apprehension¹⁰.
 
The front door closing sent a vibration¹¹ through the bedroom. Mrs. Tarns¹² hesitated an instant, and then raised the gas. Mrs. Maldon lay with shut eyes on her left side and gave no sign of consciousness. Light footsteps could be heard on the stairs.
 
"I'll go see," said Mrs. Tams.
 
In the heart of the aged¹³ woman exanimate on the bed, and in the heart of the aging woman whose stout, coarse arm was still raised to the gas-tap, were the same sentiments of wonder, envy, and pity, aroused by the enigmatic actions of a younger generation going its perilous¹⁴, instinctive¹⁵ ways to keep the race alive.
 
Mrs. Tarns lighted a benzolene hand-lamp at the gas, and silently left the bedroom. She still somewhat feared an unlawful invader¹⁶, but the arrival of Rachel had reassured¹⁷ her. Preceded by the waving little flame, she passed Rachel's door, which was closed, and went downstairs. Every mysterious room on the ground floor was in order and empty. No sign of an invasion. Through the window of the kitchen she saw the fresh cutlets under a wire cover in the scullery; and on the kitchen table were the tin of pineapple and the tin of cocoa, with the reticule near by. All doors that ought to be fastened were fastened. She remounted the stairs and blew out the lamp on the threshold of the mistress's bedroom. And as she did so she could hear Rachel winding²⁰ up her alarm-clock in quick jerks, and the light shone bright like a silver rod under Rachel's door.
 
"Her's gone reet to bed," said Mrs. Tams softly, by the bedside of Mrs. Maldon. "Ye've no cause for to worrit yerself. I've looked over th' house."
 
Mrs. Maldon was fast asleep.
 
Mrs. Tams lowered the gas and resumed her chair, and the street lamp once more threw the shadows of the window-frames on the blinds.
 
 
II
The next day Mrs. Tams, who had been appointed to sleep in the spare room, had to exist under the blight²¹ of Rachel's chill disapproval²² because she had not slept in the spare room—nor in any bed at all. The arrangement had been that Mrs. Tams should retire at 4 a.m., Rachel taking her place with Mrs. Maldon. Mrs. Tams had not retired²³ at 4 a.m. because Rachel had not taken her place.
 
As a fact, Rachel had been wakened by a bang of the front door, at 10.30 a.m. only. Her first glance at the alarm-clock on her dressing-table was incredulous. And she refused absolutely to believe that the hour was so late. Yet the alarm-clock was giving its usual sturdy, noisy tick, and the sun was high. Then she refused to believe that the alarm had gone off, and in order to remain firm in her belief she refrained from any testing of the mechanism²⁴, which might—indeed, would—have proved that the alarm had in fact gone off. It became with her an article of dogma that on that particular morning, of all mornings, the very reliable alarm-clock had failed in its duty. The truth was that she had lain awake till nearly three o'clock, turning from side to side and thinking bitterly upon the imperfections of human nature, and had then fallen into a deep, invigorating sleep from which perhaps half a dozen alarm-clocks might not have roused her.
 
She arose full of health and anger, and in a few minutes she was out of the bedroom, for she had not fully undressed; like many women, when there was watching to be done, she loved to keep her armour²⁵ on and to feel the exciting strain of the unusual in every movement. She fell on Mrs. Tams as Mrs. Tams was coming upstairs after letting out the doctor and refreshing²⁶ herself with cocoa in the kitchen. A careless observer might have thought from their respective attitudes that it was Mrs. Tarns, and not Rachel, who had overslept herself. Rachel divided the blame between the alarm-clock and Mrs. Tams for not wakening her; indeed, she seemed to consider herself the victim of a conspiracy²⁷ between Mrs. Tams and the alarm-clock. She explicitly²⁸ blamed Mrs. Tams for allowing the doctor to come and go without her knowledge. Even the doctor did not get off scot-free, for he ought to have asked for Rachel and insisted on seeing her.
 
She examined Mrs. Tams about the invalid²⁹'s health as a lawyer examines a hostile witness. And when Mrs. Tams said that the invalid had slept, and was sleeping, stertorously³¹ in an unaccountable manner, and hinted that the doctor was not undisturbed by the new symptom and meant to call again later on, Rachel's tight-lipped mien³² indicated that this might not have occurred if only Mrs. Tams had fulfilled her obvious duty of wakening Rachel. Though she was hungry, she scornfully repulsed³³ the suggestion of breakfast. Mrs. Tams, thoroughly³⁴ accustomed to such behaviour in the mighty³⁵, accepted it as she accepted the weather. But if she had had to live through the night again—after all, a quite tolerable night—she would still not have wakened Rachel at 4 a.m.
 
Rachel softened³⁶ as the day passed. She ate a good dinner at one o'clock, with Mrs. Tams in the kitchen, one or the other mounting at short intervals³⁷ to see if Mrs. Maldon had stirred. Then she changed into her second-best frock, in anticipation³⁸ of the doctor's Sunday afternoon visit, strictly³⁹ commanded Mrs. Tams (but with relenting kindness in her voice) to go and lie down, and established herself neatly⁴⁰ in the sick-room.
 
Though her breathing had become noiseless again, Mrs. Maldon still slept. She had wakened only once since the previous night. She lay calm and dignified⁴¹ in slumber—an old and devastated⁴² woman, with that disconcerting resemblance to a corpse⁴³ shown by all aged people asleep, but yet with little sign of positive illness save the slight distortion of her features caused by the original attack. Rachel sat idle, prim⁴⁴, in vague reflection, at intervals smoothing her petticoat, or giving a faint cough, or gazing at the mild blue September sky. She might have been reading a book, but she was not by choice a reader. She had the rare capacity of merely existing. Her thoughts flitted to and fro, now resting on Mrs. Maldon with solemnity, now on Mrs. Tams with amused benevolence⁴⁶, now on old Batchgrew with lofty disgust, and now on Louis Fores with unquiet curiosity and delicious apprehension.
 
She gave a little shudder⁴⁸ of fright and instantly controlled it—Mrs. Maldon, instead of being asleep, was looking at her. She rose and went to the bedside and stood over the sick woman, by the pillow, benignly⁴⁹, asking with her eyes what desire of the sufferer's she might fulfil. And Mrs. Maldon looked up at her with another benignity⁵⁰. And they both smiled.
 
"You've slept very well," said Rachel softly.
 
Mrs. Maldon, continuing to smile, gave a scarcely perceptible affirmative movement of the head.
 
"Will you have some of your Revalenta? I've only got to warm it, here. Everything's ready."
 
"Nothing, thank you, dear," said Mrs. Maldon, in a firm, matter-of-fact voice.
 
The doctor had left word that food was not to be forced on her.
 
"Do you feel better?"
 
Mrs. Maldon answered, in a peculiar⁵¹ tone—
 
"My dear, I shall never feel any better than I do now."
 
"Oh, you mustn't talk like that!" said Rachel in gay protest.
 
"I want to talk to you, Rachel," said Mrs. Maldon, once more reassuringly⁵² matter-of-fact. "Sit down there."
 
Rachel obediently perched herself on the bed, and bent⁵³ her head. And her face, which was now much closer to Mrs. Maldon's, expressed the gravity which Mrs. Maldon would wish, and also the affectionate condescension⁵⁴ of youth towards age, and of health towards infirmity. And as almost unconsciously she exulted⁵⁵ in her own youth, and strength, delicate little poniards of tragic⁵⁶ grief for Mrs. Maldon's helpless and withered⁵⁷ senility seemed to stab through that personal pride. The shiny, veined right hand of the old woman emerged from under the bedclothes and closed with hot, fragile grasp on Rachel's hand.
 
Within the impeccable orderliness of the bedroom was silence; and beyond was the vast Sunday afternoon silence of the district, producing the sensation of surcease, re-creating the impressive illusion of religion even out of the brutish irreligion that was bewailed from pulpits to empty pews in all the temples of all the Five Towns. Only the smoke waving slowly through the clean-washed sky from a few high chimneys over miles of deserted⁵⁸ manufactories made a link between Saturday and Monday.
 
"I've something I want to say to you," said Mrs. Maldon, in that deceptive⁵⁹ matter-of-fact voice. "I wanted to tell you yesterday afternoon, but I couldn't. And then again last night, but I went off to sleep."
 
"Yes?" murmured Rachel, duped by Mrs. Maldon's manner into perfect security. She was thinking: "What's the poor old thing got into her head now? Is it something fresh about the money?"
 
"It's about yourself," said Mrs. Maldon.
 
Rachel exclaimed impulsively—
 
"What about me?"
 
She could feel a faint vibration in Mrs. Maldon's hand.
 
"I want you not to see so much of Louis."
 
Rachel was shocked and insulted. She straightened her spine⁶⁰ and threw back her head sharply. But she dared not by force withdraw her hand from Mrs. Maldon's. Moreover, Mrs. Maldon's clasp tightened⁶¹ almost convulsively.
 
"I suppose Mr. Batchgrew's been up here telling tales while I was asleep," Rachel expostulated, hotly and her demeanour was at once pouting⁶², sulky, and righteously offended.
 
Mrs. Maldon was puzzled.
 
"This morning, do you mean, dear?" she asked.
 
Tears stood in Rachel's eyes. She could not speak, but she nodded her head. And then another sentence burst from her full breast: "And you told Mrs. Tams she wasn't to tell me Mr. Batchgrew'd called!"
 
"I've not seen or heard anything of Mr. Batchgrew," said Mrs. Maldon. "But I did hear you and Louis talking outside last night."
 
The information startled Rachel.
 
"Well, and what if you did, Mrs. Maldon?" she defended herself. Her foot tapped on the floor. She was obliged to defend herself, and with care. Mrs. Maldon's tranquillity⁶³, self-control, immense age and experience, superior deportment, extreme weakness, and the respect which she inspired, compelled the girl to intrench warily⁶⁴, instead of carrying off the scene in one stormy outburst of resentment⁶⁵ as theoretically she might have done.
 
Mrs. Maldon said, cajolingly, flatteringly—
 
"My dear, do be your sensible self and listen to me."
 
It then occurred to Rachel that during the last day or so (the period seemed infinitely⁶⁶ longer) she had been losing, not her common sense, but her immediate⁶⁷ command of that faculty⁶⁸, of which she was, privately⁶⁹, very proud. And she braced⁷⁰ her being, reaching up towards her own conception of herself, towards the old invulnerable Rachel Louisa Fleckring. At any cost she must keep her reputation for common sense with Mrs. Maldon.
 
And so she set a watch on her gestures, and moderated her voice, secretly yielding to the benevolence of the old lady, and said, in the tone of a wise and kind woman of the world and an incarnation of profound sagacity—
 
"What do I see of Mr. Fores, Mrs. Maldon? I see nothing of Mr. Fores, or hardly. I'm your lady help, and he's your nephew—at least, he's your great-nephew, and it's your house he comes to. I can't help being in the house, can I? If you're thinking about last night, well, Mr. Fores called to see how you were getting on, and I was just going out to do some shopping. He walked down with me. I suppose I needn't tell you I didn't ask him to walk down with me. He asked me. I couldn't hardly say no, could I? And there were some parcels and he walked back with me."
 
She felt so wise and so clever and the narrative⁷¹ seemed so entirely⁷² natural, proper, and inevitable⁷³ that she was tempted⁷⁴ to continue—
 
"And supposing we did go into a cinematograph for a minute or two—what then?"
 
But she had no courage for the confession⁷⁵. As a wise woman she perceived the advisability of letting well alone. Moreover, she hated confessions⁷⁶, remorse⁷⁷, and gnashing of teeth.
 
And Mrs. Maldon regarded her worldly and mature air, with its touch of polite condescension, as both comic and tragic, and thought sadly of all the girl would have to go through before the air of mature worldliness which she was now affecting could become natural to her.
 
"My dear," said Mrs. Maldon, "I have perfect confidence in you." It was not quite true, because Rachel's protest as to Mr. Batchgrew, seeming to point to strange concealed⁷⁸ incidents, had most certainly impaired⁷⁹ the perfection of Mrs. Maiden's confidence in Rachel.
 
Rachel considered that she ought to pursue her advantage, and in a voice light and yet firm, good-natured and yet restive⁸⁰, she said—
 
"I really don't think anybody has the right to talk to me about Mr. Fores.... No, truly I don't."
 
"You mustn't misunderstand me, Rachel," Mrs. Maldon replied, and her other hand crept out, and stroked Rachel's captive hand. "I am only saying to you what it is my duty to say to you—or to any other young woman that comes to live in my house. You're a young woman, and Louis is a young man. I'm making no complaint. But it's my duty to warn you against my nephew."
 
"But, Mrs. Maldon, I didn't know either him or you a month ago!"
 
Mrs. Maldon, ignoring the interruption, proceeded quietly—
 
"My nephew is not to be trusted."
 
Her aged face slowly flushed as in that single brief sentence she overthrew⁸¹ the grand principle of a lifetime. She who never spoke⁸² ill of anybody had spoken ill of one of her own family.
 
"But—" Rachel stopped. She was frightened by the appearance of the flush on those devastated yellow cheeks, and by a quiver in the feeble voice and in the clasping hand. She could divine the ordeal⁸³ which Mrs. Maldon had set herself and through which she had passed. Mrs. Maldon carried conviction, and in so doing she inspired awe⁸⁴. And on the top of all Rachel felt profoundly and exquisitely⁸⁵ flattered by the immolation⁸⁶ of Mrs. Maiden's pride.
 
"The money—it has something to do with that!" thought Rachel.
 
"My nephew is not to be trusted," said Mrs. Maldon again. "I know all his good points. But the woman who married him would suffer horribly—horribly!"
 
"I'm so sorry you've had to say this," said Rachel, very kindly⁸⁷. "But I assure you that there's nothing at all, nothing whatever, between Mr. Fores and me." And in that instant she genuinely believed that there was not. She accepted Mrs. Maldon's estimate of Louis. And further, and perhaps illogically, she had the feeling of having escaped from a fatal danger. She expected Mrs. Maldon to agree eagerly that there was nothing between herself and Louis, and to reiterate⁸⁸ her perfect confidence. But, instead, Mrs. Maldon, apparently⁸⁹ treating Rachel's assurance as negligible, continued with an added solemnity—
 
"I shall only live a little while longer—a very little while." The contrast between this and her buoyant announcement on the previous day that she was not going to die just yet was highly disturbing, but Rachel could not protest or even speak. "A very little while!" repeated Mrs. Maldon reflectively. "I've not known you long—as you say—Rachel. But I've never seen a girl I liked more, if you don't mind me telling you. I've never seen a girl I thought better of. And I don't think I could die in peace if I thought Louis was going to cause you any trouble after I'm gone. No, I couldn't die in peace if I thought that."
 
And Rachel, intimately moved, thought: "She has saved me from something dreadful!" (Without trying to realize precisely⁹¹ from what.) "How splendid she is!"
 
And she cast out from her mind all the multitudinous images of Louis Fores that were there. And, full of affection, and flattered pride and gratitude⁹² and childlike admiration⁹³, she bent down and rewarded the old woman who had so confided⁹⁴ in her with a priceless girlish kiss. And she had the sensation of beginning a new life.
 
 
III
And yet, a few moments later, when Mrs. Maldon faintly murmured, "Some one at the front door," Rachel grew at once uneasy, and the new life seemed an illusion—either too fine to be true or too leaden to be desired; and she was swaying amid uncertainties⁹⁵. Perhaps Louis was at the front door. He had not yet called; but surely he was bound to call some time during the day! Of the dozen different Rachels in Rachel, one adventurously⁹⁶ hoped that he would come, and another feared that he would come; one ruled him sharply out of the catalogue of right-min............