“Yes, if she’s disengaged and alone.”
“She’s quite disengaged, and told me to show you upstairs.”
Bill was conducted into the front room, first floor, where he found Mrs. Bourne, pale and anxious, awaiting his appearance.
“So,” said she, “you are here again. I concluded you had something to communicate, and am glad you have come at the specified time. My husband is not in the way, and we can converse without fear of interruption. Be seated, and proceed to business at once.”
The gipsy dropped into the nearest chair.
“It would be a sore trouble to me if I thought my presence here and my interview with the doctor, and the words I have spoken, might cause you trouble or anxiety.”
“They have caused me great trouble and anxiety, but let that pass. I do not blame you. What you have done—the information you have given—places me in the utmost peril: but, as I before observed, it is no fault of yours. Pray tell me what you purpose doing? It appears to me, if you have any consideration for me, that you had better avoid this house, and not present yourself here again. You will thereby avoid being cross-questioned by my husband, who, from what I can gather, wishes to extract all he can get from you.”
“He will get nothing more from me—remember, not a smell. Of that I will be as silent as the grave. If I do open my mouth at all it will be to deny all I have said. You say I have placed you in a situation of extreme peril?”
“I believe you have. And you would agree with me if you knew all. Doctor Bourne will not rest, night or day, till he has found out the church where we were married. This done, he will have proof which will be fatal to me.”
“He will find no proof, madam,” said Bill Rawton. “I have taken good care of that.”