“Anywhere,” said Janey; “and I would know his voice.”
“He wore mourning,” said Miss Marlett, “and he told me he had known Margaret’s father. I heard him say a few words to her, in a very kind way, about him. That seemed more comfort to Margaret than anything. ‘He did not suffer at all, my dear,’ he said. He spoke to her in that way, as an older man might.”
“Why, how on earth could he know?” cried Maitland. “No one was present when her poor father died. His body was found in a—,” and Maitland paused rather awkwardly. There was, perhaps, no necessity for adding to the public information about the circumstances of Mr. Shields’ decease. “He was overcome by the cold and snow, I mean, on the night of the great storm.”
“I have always heard that the death of people made drowsy by snow and fatigue is as painless as sleep,” said Miss Marlett with some tact.
“I suppose that is what the man must have meant,” Maitland answered.
There was nothing more to be said on either side, and yet he lingered, trying to think over any circumstance which might lend a clew in the search for Margaret and of the mysterious Mr. Lithgow.
At last he said “Good-night,” after making the superfluous remark that it would be as well to let everyone suppose that nothing unusual or unexpected had happened. In this view Miss Marlett entirely concurred, for excellent reasons of her own, and now she began to regret that she had taken Miss Harman into her counsels. But there was no help for it; and when Maitland rejoined his cabman (who had been refreshed by tea), a kind of informal treaty of peace was concluded between Janey and the schoolmistress. After all, it appeared to Miss Marlett (and correctly) that the epistle from the young officer whom Janey regarded as a brother was a natural and harmless communication. It chiefly contained accounts of contemporary regimental sports and pastimes, in which the writer had distinguished himself, and if it did end “Yours affectionately,” there was nothing very terrible or inflammatory in that, all things considered. So the fair owner of the letter received it into her own keeping, only she was “never to do it again.”
Miss Marlett did not ask Janey to say nothing about Margaret’s inexplicable adventure. She believed that the girl would have sufficient sense and good feeling to hold her peace; and if she did not do so of her own accord, no vows would be likely to bind her. In this favorable estimate of her pupil’s discretion Miss Marlett was not mistaken.
Janey did not even give herself airs of mystery among the girls, which was an act of creditable self-denial. The rest of the school never doubted that, on the death of Miss Shields’ father, she had been removed by one of her friends. As for Maitland, he was compelled to pass the night at Tiverton, revolving many memories. He had now the gravest reason for anxiety about the girl, of whom he was the only friend and protector, and who was, undeniably, the victim of some plot or conspiracy. Nothing more practical than seeking the advice of Bielby of St. Gatien’s occurred to his perplexed imagination.