“Thank Heaven! Oh, I could never have seen his mother again! Oh, she has been the heroine!”
“In the truest sense of the word,” he answered. And Rachel looked up with one moment’s brightening at the old allusion, but her oppression was too great for cheerfulness, and she answered—
“Dear Fanny, yes, she will be a rebuke to me for ever! But,” she added, before he had time to inquire for her health, “I wanted—I wanted to beg you to do me a service. You were so kind the other night.”
His reply was to lean earnestly forward, awaiting her words, and she told him briefly of her grievous perplexity about the title-deeds.
“Then,” he said, “you would wish for me to see the man and ascertain how he has disposed of them.”
“I should be most grateful!”
“I will do my utmost. Perhaps I may not succeed immediately, as I believe visitors are not admitted every day, and he is said to be busy preparing his defence, but I will try, and let you know.”
“Thanks, thanks! The doubt is terrible, for I know worry about it would distract my mother.”
“I do not imagine,” he said, “that much worse consequences than worry could ensue. But there are none more trying.”
“Oh not none!”