'
'And who got into the chaise, Mary?' I asked.
'Well, Miss, I waited as long as I could; but the pain was bad, and me so
awful cold; I gave it up at last, and came back to bed, for I could not say
how much longer they might wait. And you'll find, Miss,'twill be kep' a
secret, like the shay as you saw'd, Miss, last week. I hate them dark ways,
and secrets; and old Wyat--she does tell stories, don't she?--and she as
ought to be partickler, seein' her time be short now, and she so old. It is
awful, an old un like that telling such crams as she do.'
Milly was as curious as I, but could throw no light on this. We both
agreed, however, that the departure was probably that of the person whose
arrival I had accidentally witnessed. This time the chaise had drawn up
at the side door, round the corner of the left side of the house; and, no
doubt, driven away by the back road.
Another accident had revealed this nocturnal move. It was very provoking,
however, that Mary Quince had not had resolution to wait for the appearance
of the traveller. We all agreed, however, that we were to observe a strict
silence, and that even to Wyat--L'Amour I had better continue to call
her--Mary Quince was not to hint what she had seen.
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