"From me? Why, I wrote to her almost every week when I was well enough, until, latterly, having no answer, I became discouraged. But hurry on with your story. Where is she now?"
"She had a letter from Miss Sinclair which made her very glad; and then Miss Sinclair found her some work, about which she was very hopeful at first; but it was difficult to do, I am sure, for she used to come home quite fagged out, and it must have paid badly, for she had very little money. 'I'm such a poor hand at it, Mrs. Austin!' she used to say. And sometimes she used to add, 'My heart isn't hard enough for it.' Poor dear! If it was a hard heart the work wanted, Miss Anderson was quite the wrong lady for it. I've seen ladies who would 'skin a flint,' as the saying is, but----"
"Never mind that!" interrupted Bernard with more impatience than courtesy. "Tell me where Miss Anderson is?"
Mrs. Austin began again, for she would tell things in her own way. "She fell into a poor state of health, and got a hacking cough, which wouldn't be cured, though I made her linseed tea, and honey and lemon, and----"
"Where is she? Speak! Tell me, is she alive?" For now Bernard's fear caused him to leap to the conclusion that Doris must have died.
"Oh, dear, sir, she's alive, of course! Though she was in a bad state at that time, and had a regular churchyard cough."
"Go on. You frighten me."
"I'm sorry, sir. Where was I? Oh, there came a day when she couldn't go out. I made her lie on the sofa in my back parlour, and it just happened that Mr. Sinclair called: he had been many times when she was out, but that day he called when she was in. He had a very long talk with Miss Anderson. And she was very much excited after he had gone. She cried a good bit, and then, next day, his sister came to see her, and afterwards he called again, and then Miss Anderson sat down and wrote a letter to you, sir, and another one to an old servant in Yorkshire, and she cried while she was writing them. I think those were very important letters, sir, for she was very anxious that they should be safely posted. I had to put on my bonnet and take them to the post myself, for she would trust no one else. And then she waited so anxiously for the answers, but only the old servant wrote. Oh, sir, why didn't you write?"
"I received no letter from her. I have had none from her since the first week after my return to Yorkshire."
"And I'm sure she wrote to you, sir, several times."