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.
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