e, I
suppose, and prostration of the passions.

'I weel make excuse to go into his room again,' said Madame; 'and I weel
endeavor to learn something more from him, and I weel come back again to
you in half an hour.'

She departed. But in half an hour did not return. I had a dull longing to
leave Bartram-Haugh. For me, since the departure of poor Milly, it had
grown like the haunt of evil spirits, and to escape on any terms from it
was a blessing unspeakable.

Another half-hour passed, and another, and I grew insufferably feverish.
I sent Mary Quince to the lobby to try and see Madame, who, I feared, was
probably to-ing and fro-ing in and out of Uncle Silas's room.

Mary returned to tell me that she had seen old Wyat, who told her that she
thought Madame had gone to her bed half an hour before.

CHAPTER LIX

_A SUDDEN DEPARTURE_

'Mary,' said I, 'I am miserably anxious to hear what Madame may have to
tell; she knows the state I am in, and she would not like so much trouble
as to look in at my door to say a word. Did you hear what she told me?'

'No, Miss Maud,' she answered, rising and drawing near.

'She thinks we are going to France immediately, and to leave this place
perhaps for ever.'

'Heaven be praised for that, if it be so, Miss!' said Mary, with more
energy than was common with her, 'for there is no luck about it, and I
don't expect to see you ever well or happy in it.'

'You must take your candle, Mary, and make out her room, upstairs; I found
it accidentally myself one evening.'

'But Wyat won't let us upstairs.'

'Don't mind her, Mary; I tell you to go. You must try. I can't sleep till
we hear.'

'What direction is her room in, Miss?' asked Mary.

'Somewhere in _that_ direction, Mary,' I answered, pointing. 'I cannot
describe the turns; but I think you will find it if you go along the great
passage to your left, on getting to the top of the stairs, till you come to
the cross-galleries, and then turn to your left; and when you have passed
four or perhaps five doors, you must be very near it, and I am sure she
will hear if you call.'

'But will she tell me--she _is_ such a rum un, Miss?' suggested Mary.

'Tell her exactly what I have said to you, and when she learns that you
already know as much as I do, she may--unless, indeed, she wishes to
torture me. If she won't, perhaps at least you can persuade her to come to
me for a moment. Try, dear Mary; we can but fail.'

'Will you be