“Mr. Johnson,” she exclaimed, “I really can’t stop. I don’t know when Madame may want me. But what does it all mean? Every one seems wildly unhappy, and it all seems to centre round you. What are you doing to everybody? You were so kind to me.”
“My dear,” he replied gently, “it would take a long time to explain. Very soon you will know everything.”
“But the everything that I am to know seems as though it were going to be horrible!” she cried. “Madame looks as if she were about to die every moment. Sir Bertram rode away from seeing her this morning looking like a ghost. They say that Mr. Gregory left last night for abroad. Miss Endacott sent three notes to him yesterday. I know that she wanted him to come to see her. He wouldn’t. And the place seems full—full of phosphorescence. It’s like a pause before a thunder storm. No one seems to know quite what to expect. Is it you who have been stirring up all this trouble?”
He shook his head.
“The trouble, such as it is,” he assured her solemnly, “was caused by those who must suffer for it.”
“Who are they?” she demanded.
He pointed over his shoulder towards the Hall.
“The Ballastons,” he answered.
“But what have they done?”
He shook his head.