He passed out. Detritch offered his arm to Mrs. Charlton. She declined it, and he left the room. There was an interval of silence. Every one felt sympathy for the two ladies. Mrs. Charlton approached Vance, and said, “Will you allow me to examine those letters?”
“Certainly, madam,” he replied.
She took them one by one, scrutinized the handwriting, read them carefully, and returned them to Vance. She then asked the privilege of a private conference with Hyde, and the Colonel accompanied her into the anteroom. This interview was followed by one, first with Mrs. Ripper, then with Mr. Winslow, then with Esha and Mrs. Davy, and finally with Clara. During the day Pompilard had sent home for a photograph-book containing likenesses of Clara’s father, mother, and maternal grandmother. These were placed in Mrs. Charlton’s hands. A glance satisfied her of the family resemblance to the supposed child.
Re-entering the parlor Mrs. Charlton said: “Friends, there is no escape that I can see from the proofs you offer that this young lady is indeed Clara Aylesford Berwick. Be sure it will not be my fault if she is not at once instated in her rights. I bid you all good evening.”
And then, escorted by Captain Onslow, she and her daughter took their leave, and the company broke up.
Charlton, impatient, had quitted the hotel with Detritch and sent back the carriage. They were closeted in the library when Mrs. Charlton and Lucy returned. The unloving and unloved wife, but tender mother, kissed her daughter for goodnight and retired to her own sleeping-room. She undressed and went to bed; but not being able to sleep, rose, put on a light robe de chambre, and sat down to read. About two o’clock in the morning she heard the front door close and a carriage drive off. Detritch had then gone at last!
Charlton’s sleeping-room was on the other side of the entry-way opposite to his wife’s. She threw open her door to hear him when he should come up to bed. She waited anxiously a full hour. She began to grow nervous. Void as her heart was of affection for her husband, something like pity crept in as she recalled his look of anguish and alarm at Vance’s disclosures. Ah! is it not sad when one has to despise while one pities! “Shall I not go, and try to cheer him?” she asked herself. Hopeless task! What cheer could she give unless she went with a lie, telling him that Vance’s startling revelation was all a trick!
The laggard moments crept on. Though the gas was put up bright and flaring, she could not have so shivered with a nameless horror if she had been alone in some charnel-house, lighted only by pale, phosphoric gleams from dead men’s bones.
But why did not Charlton come up?
The wind, which had been rising, blew back a blind, and swept with a mournful whistle through the trees in the area. Then it throbbed at the casement like a living heart that had something to reveal.