The fact
is, Maud, your poor papa quite mistook me. I had no prejudice respecting
him--no theory. I never knew what to think about him. I do not think
Silas a product of nature, but a child of the Sphinx, and I never could
understand him--that's all.'
'I always felt so too; but that was because I was left to speculation, and
to glean conjectures as I might from his portrait, or anywhere. Except what
you told me, I never heard more than a few sentences; poor papa did not
like me to ask questions about him, and I think he ordered the servants to
be silent.'
'And much the same injunction this little note lays upon me--not quite, but
something like it; and I don't know the meaning of it.'
And she looked enquiringly at me.
'You are not to be _alarmed_ about your uncle Silas, because your being
afraid would unfit you for an _important service_ which you have undertaken
for your family, the nature of which I shall soon understand, and which,
although it is quite _passive_, would be made very sad if _illusory fears_
were allowed to _steal into your mind_.'
She was looking into the letter in poor papa's handwriting, which she had
found addressed to her in his desk, and emphasised the words, I suppose,
which she quoted from it.
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