"Do you never see a newspaper, Mrs. Clayton, and, if so, can you not indulge me with a glimpse of one? I think it would do me good—remind me that I was alive, I have seen none since the account of Miss Lamarque's safety, for which God be praised."[[6]]
"No, Miss Monfort, it is simply impossible. I should be transgressing the rules of the establishment."
"Dr. Englehart's, I suppose, as if indeed there were such a person," I said, impetuously—unguardedly.
"Do you pretend to doubt it?" she asked, slowly, setting her greedy eyes upon my face, and dropping her darning-work and shell upon her knee. "Why, what possesses you to-day, Miss Miriam?"
"I shall answer no questions, Mrs. Clayton—this right, at least, I reserve—but, the fact is, I doubt every thing lately, except this child and God. I do not believe my Creator will forsake me utterly—I shall not, till the end." And tears rolled down my face, the first I had shed for days. I had been petrified, of late, by the resolution I was making, and the effort of mind it had cost me. I had felt, until now, that I was hardening into stone.
"You desire to see Mr. Bainrothe, I suppose," she remarked, after a long silence, during which she had again betaken herself to her occupation, without lifting her eyes as she asked the question.
"I desire to look my fate in the face at once, and understand his conditions," I replied, sullenly.
"But what if he is not here—what if Dr. Englehart—" lifting her eyes to mine.
"I cannot be mistaken," I interrupted, with impetuosity. "I have heard his step; he eats in the room below; I am convinced, for I know of old that bronchial cough of his—the effect of gormandism—"
Then suddenly, Ernie, looking up, made a revelation, irrelevant, yet to my ear terrible and astounding, but fortunately incomprehensible to my companion. What did that little vigilant creature ever fail to remark?