old a rod over them both, and perhaps buy that
miserable little Thornwick. Mortimer would give the skin off his back
for it."

The thing that ought to be done had to be done, and Mary had done
it--alas! to no purpose for the end desired: what was left her to do
further? She could think of nothing. Sepia, like a moral hyena, must
range her night. She went to bed, and dreamed she was pursued by a
crowd, hooting after her, and calling her all the terrible names of
those who spread evil reports. She woke in misery, and slept no more.

CHAPTER LII.

A SUMMONS.

One hot Saturday afternoon, in the sleepiest time of the day, when
nothing was doing; and nobody in the shop, except a poor boy who had
come begging for some string to help him fly his kite, though for the
last month wind had been more scarce than string, Jemima came in from
Durnmelling, and, greeting Mary with the warmth of the friendship that
had always been true between them, gave her a letter.

"Whom is this from?" asked Mary, with the usual human waste of inquiry,
seeing she held the surest answer in her hand.

"Mr. Mewks gave it me," said Jemima. "He didn't say whom it was from."

Mary made haste to open it: she had an instinctive distrust of
everything that passed through Mewks's hands, and greatly feared that,
much as his master trusted him, he was not true to him. She found the
following note from Mr. Redmain:

"DEAR MISS MARSTON: Come and see me as soon as you can; I have
something to talk to you about. Send word by the bearer when I may look
for you. I am not well.

"Yours truly,

"F. G. REDMAIN."

Mary went to her desk and wrote a reply, saying she would be with him
the next morning about eleven o'clock. She would have gone that same
night, she said, but, as it was Saturday, she could not, because of
country customers, close in time to go so far.

"Give it into Mr. Redmain's own hand, if you can, Jemima," she said.

"I will try; but I doubt if I can, miss," answered the girl.

"Between ourselves, Jemima," said Mary, "I do not trust that man Mewks."

"Nobody does, miss, except the master and Miss Yolland."

"Then," thought Mary, "the thing is worse than I had supposed."

"I'll do what I can, miss," Jemima went on. "But he's so sharp!--Mr.
Mewks, I mean."

After she was gone, Mary wished she had given her a verbal message;
that she might have insisted on delivering in person.

Jemima, with circumspection, managed to reach Mr.