"I tell you, Joan, I never sent for Grace. If you don't know where she is--none but God knows!"
"I have told you all," his sister answered, catching her breath at every word almost--"a letter came from you, overruling the whole of our arrangement--you were not ill; but you wanted her for some particular purpose. She was to walk, and you would meet her; and walk she did, poor darling! And I was so hurt that I would not send----"
"You let her go, Joan! You let her go! It was a piece of your proud temper. Her death lies at your door. And so will mine!"
Mr. Oglander was very sorry, as soon as he had spoken thus unjustly; but the deep pang of the heart devoured any qualms of conscience.
"Are you sure that you let her go? Are you sure that she is not in this house now?" he cried, coming up to his sister, and taking both hands to be sure of her. "She must be here; and you are joking with me."
"Worth, she left this house at two o'clock by that timepiece yesterday, instead of to-day, as we meant to do. She would not let any one go with her, because you were coming down the hill to meet her. Not expecting to go home that day, she had a pair of my silk stockings on, because--well, I need not go into that--and knowing what a darling little fidget she is, I thought she had sent you back with them, and to make your peace for so flurrying me."
"Have you nothing more to tell me, Joan? I shall go mad while you dwell on your stockings. Who brought that letter? What is become of it? Did you see it? Can you think of anything? Oh, Joan, you women are so quick-witted! Surely you can think of something!"
Mrs. Fermitage knew what her brother meant; but no sign would she show of it. The Squire was thinking of a little touch of something that might have grown up into love, if Grace had not been so shy about it, and so full of doubts as to what she ought to do. Her aunt had been anxious to help this forward; but not for the world to speak of it.
"Concerning the letter, I only just saw it. I was up--well, well, I mean I happened to have something to do in my own room then. The dear creature knocked at my door, and I could not let her in at the moment----"
"You were doing your wig--well, well, go on."