she did believe we had
not many more days here, and would tell you if she heard to-night, when she
brought his soup to your uncle, in half an hour's time.'

I asked her, as soon as I could speak, whether she was perfectly certain as
to the fact that the man in the surtout was Dudley, and she made answer--

'I'd swear to him on that Bible, Miss.'

So far from any longer wishing Madame's return that night, I trembled at
the idea of it. Who could tell who might enter the room with her when the
door opened to admit her?

Dudley, so soon as he recovered the surprise, had turned about, evidently
anxious to prevent recognition; Dickon Hawkes stood glowering at her. Both
might have hope of escaping recognition in the imperfect light, for the
candle on the chimneypiece was flaring in the air, and the light from the
lantern fell in spots, and was confusing.

What could that ruffian, Hawkes, be doing in the house? Why was Dudley
there? Could a more ominous combination be imagined? I puzzled my
distracted head over all Mary Quince's details, but could make nothing of
their occupation. I know of nothing so terrifying as this kind of perpetual
puzzling over ominous problems.

You may imagine how the long hours of that night passed, and how my heart
beat at every fancied sound outside my door.

But morning came, and with its light some reassurance. Early, Madame de la
Rougierre made her appearance; she searched my eyes darkly and shrewdly,
but made no allusion to Mary Quince's visit. Perhaps she expected some
question from me, and, hearing none, thought it as well to leave the
subject at rest.

She had merely come in to say that she had heard nothing since, but was now
going to make my uncle's chocolate; and that so soon as her interview was
ended she would see me again, and let me hear anything she should have
gleaned.

In a little while a knock came to my door, and Mary Quince was ordered by
old Wyat into my uncle's room. She returned flushed, in a huge fuss, to say
that I was to be up and dressed for a journey in half an hour, and to go
straight, when dressed, to my uncle's room.

It was good news; at the same time it was a shock. I was glad. I was
stunned. I jumped out of bed, and set about my toilet with an energy quite
new to me. Good Mary Quince was busily packing my boxes, and consulting as
to what I should take with me, and what not.

Was Mary Quince to accompany me? He had not said a word on that point; and
I f