character," muttered Wix,
as he heard the chain slipped into its sheath. Then the door opened, and
a tremulous voice came from within.

"What is it ... you want?" it said. Its trepidation was out of all
proportion to the needs of the case. So thought Mr. Wix, and decided
that this Aunt M'riar was some poor nervous hysteric, perhaps an idiot
outright.

"Does an old lady by the name of Prichard live here, mistress?" He hid
his impatience with this idiot, assuming a genial or conciliatory
tone--a thing he perfectly well knew how to do, on occasion. "An old
lady by the name of Prichard.... You've got nothing to be frightened of,
you know. I'm not going to do _her_ any harm, nor yet you." He spoke as
to the idiot, in a reassuring tone. For the hysterical voice had tried
again for speech, and failed.

Aunt M'riar mustered a little more strength. "Old Mrs. Prichard's away
in the country," she said almost firmly. "She's not likely to be back
yet awhile. Can I take any message?"

"Are _you_ going in the country?"

"For when she comes back, I should have said."

"Ah--but when will that be? Next come strawberry-time, perhaps! I'll
write to her."

"I can't give her address." Aunt M'riar had an impression that the
omission of "you" after "give" just saved her telling a lie here. Her
words might have meant: "I am not at liberty to give her address to
anyone." It was less like saying she did not know it.

His next words startled her. "_I_ know her address. Got it written down
here. Some swell's house in Rocestershire." He made a pretence of
searching among papers.

Aunt M'riar was so taken by surprise at this that she had said
"Yes--Ancester Towers" before she knew it. She was not a person to
entrust secrets to.

"Right you are, mistress! Ancester Towers it is." He was making a
pretence, entirely for his own satisfaction, of confirming this from a
memorandum. Mr. Wix had got what he wanted, but he enjoyed the success
of his ruse. Of course, he had only used what he had just overheard from
Uncle Moses.

The thought then crossed Aunt M'riar's mind that unless she inquired of
him who he was, or why he wanted Mrs. Prichard, he would guess that she
knew already. It was the reaction of her concealed knowledge--a sort of
innocent guilty conscience. It was not a reasonable thought, but a vivid
one for all that--vivid enough to make her say:--"Who shall I say asked
for her?"

"Any name you like. It don't matter to me. I shall