“Poor thing!” Alice thought; “it is very sad to think such a thing now she is dead; but she must have been partly to blame, and to shield herself, she has invented this story of Frank promising to marry her at his uncle's death.”
This story Alice elaborated gradually in the intervals of throbbing pain in her temples, and having once elaborated clung to. Not, as she told herself, that it could make any difference to her. He was married, and she should never see him again, for she was certain that her uncle would keep his word. Still, now she might think of him sometimes, with sorrow and regret and pain, but without absolute horror. Her idol was terribly cracked and flawed, indeed, but it had not absolutely fallen to pieces. And having at last persuaded herself that it must be so, she fell asleep just as morning was breaking. For the next three days Alice kept her room, completely prostrated with headache, and feeling altogether unequal to going downstairs to talk upon different matters with her uncle. Still she clung to the belief that the version of the story she had imagined to herself, would turn out to be correct, and that Frank could not have been to blame as her uncle believed. The more she thought of his character ever since she had known him, the more positive she felt of his, at any rate, comparative innocence. Oh, if she could but find out the truth! and to do this there was but one way,—namely, to see Stephen Walker himself. She might then find out what foundation he had for his charges, whether he had absolute proof that Frank had promised to marry his daughter, or whether it was merely the poor girl's own assertion.
It was a strange step, perhaps, for her to take, but Alice rather despised conventionalities, and determined that she would not allow Frank to rest under this dreadful accusation, if she could clear it up. Besides, it would be another fortnight before Frank could arrive, and have an opportunity of clearing himself, and Alice, in her state of restless anxiety, felt that she could not wait for another fortnight. She resolved upon saying nothing to her uncle; so after he had gone to his club, she went up and put on her things, and telling the footman to follow her, started for New Street. Greatly disappointed was she upon finding the shop shut up; but being told that Mrs. Holl of 18, Moor Street, was likely to know Stephen Walker's address, she went there, followed in some wonderment by her attendant.