That died in heavy moans.—L. V. French.
Meanwhile Eudora remained in strict seclusion at her obscure lodgings in the Borough. Her voluntary close confinement within her own apartments excited no suspicion in the guileless heart of her landlady, who ascribed it to the recent bereavement and extreme sorrow which her deep mourning and pallid countenance seemed truly to indicate.
Mrs. Corder had formed her own opinion concerning her beautiful lodger. No one had deceived the good woman, but she had quite naturally deceived herself; and so thoroughly was she persuaded of the truth of her own theory, that, when any chance visitor dropped in at evening to gossip, she informed her that the new lodger was the orphan daughter of a country clergyman, and had come to town to seek employment as a daily governess. And if any one had asked Mrs. Corder how she obtained her information, she would have said—and thought—that Miss Miller had told her.
Meanwhile Eudora passed her days in a heavy, deadly suspense and terror, and her nights in broken sleep and fearful dreams, from which she would start in nervous spasms. Every day her health visibly declined under this tremendous oppression.
The landlady ascribing her illness to inordinate grief for the death of her parents, sought every means to soothe and entertain her.
On the morning of the fifth day of her residence beneath the roof, the landlady brought her a letter, saying:
“Here now! I suppose this is to bring you some good news; an offer of a situation perhaps in some nobleman’s family, who knows?” And the good woman stuck her arms akimbo and stood at rest, evidently anxious to be a participator in the “good news.”
Eudora suspected the disguised handwriting to be that of Malcolm Montrose, and with trembling fingers opened the letter. It was without date or signature, and very brief, merely saying:
“My Dearest One—All is well as yet—the hounds are off the scent. Do not answer this letter; it might not be safe to do so. Keep close, and wait for another communication.”
Eudora put the letter in her bosom, and waited for an opportunity to destroy it.