I thought she started slightly at this announcement, but she replied, unflinchingly:
"The 5th, yes, I am quite sure it is the 5th of the month."
"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."[5]
"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 atone.
"You desire to see Mr. Bainrothe, I suppose," she remarked, after a long silence, daring 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.