“Yes, but they cannot get him to enter the place where she lies. His duty is to the living, he says; at least, his anxiety is there. He starts at every cry Carmel utters.”
“She—cries out—then?”
“Very often. I could hear her from where I sat downstairs.”
“And what does she say?”
“The one thing constantly. ‘Lila! Lila!’ Nothing more.”
I kept my face in shadow. If he saw it at all, it must have looked as cold and hard as stone. After a moment, I went on with my queries:
“Does he—Arthur—mention me at all?”
“I did not discuss you greatly with Miss Clifford. I saw that she was prejudiced, and I preferred not to risk an argument; but she let fall this much: that Arthur felt very hard towards you and loudly insisted upon your guilt. She seemed to think him justified in this. You don’t mind my telling you? It is better for you to know what is being said about you in town.”
I understood his motive. He was trying to drive me into giving him my full confidence. But I would not be driven. I simply retorted quietly but in a way to stop all such future attempts:
“Miss Clifford is a very good girl and a true friend of the whole Cumberland family; but she is not the most discriminating person in the world, and even if she were, her opinion would not turn me from the course I have laid out for myself. Does the doctor—Dr. Carpenter, I presume,—venture to say how long Carmel’s present delirium will hold?”