"Well; I have heard your account and I have heard the account of Corn. I do not know how to reconcile the two."
"Corn--Corn the rector? What has he to do with it?"
"A good deal. So have Joyce and Santiago and others. See here Steve, I have been searching for evidence in this case for a long time. To spare you I said nothing, but now that your step-mother has been brought into the matter it is but right you should know. Sit down. I will tell you a long and interesting story."
Rather dazed, Stephen did as he was told. Then Dr. Jim related all that he had learned, bringing the narrative down to the end of his interview with the Revd. Pentland Corn. "Now what do you think?" he asked when the whole story was told.
"I do not know what to think. My mother--I can't believe that she would--would."
"It does seem strange," said Herrick, "but I tell you what. It is my opinion that this message Petronella will deliver, will tell the truth."
[CHAPTER XXII]
A MESSAGE FROM THE DEAD
The old Italian woman looked very ill. Her form was shrunken, her face thin and white, her eyes unnaturally large. Evidently the misty climate of the midlands chilled her to the bone. She had developed a hacking cough, and shook with ague when the east wind tormented Beorminster. Herrick was shocked at the change which had taken place in her appearance during these few short weeks. Apparently Petronella was not long for this world. But the near approach of death did not appal her; she was terribly lonely, now that her mistress was gone.
"Signor Dottore," she croaked when Herrick made his appearance, "you have come to see me. That is good. But you will not cure me. No. I am dead Signor. Dio mio! what does it matter?" and she ended with a characteristic shrug, punctuated with a cough.