“I will tell you what I think,” said Miss Wynward boldly, “and that is, that you should blush to give way to your evil temper in the face of God’s warning to yourself! You accuse that poor girl of unholy dealings—what can you say of your own? You, who for years past have made money by deceiving your fellow creatures in the grossest manner—who have professed to hold communication with the spiritual world for their satisfaction when, if any spirits have come to you, they must have been those of devils akin to your own! And because I refused to help you to deceive—to take the place of that miserable cur Milliken and play cheating tricks with cards, and dress up stuffed figures to further your money-getting ends, you threatened me with loss of home and character and friends, until, God forgive me, I consented to further the fraud, from fear of starving. But now, thank Heaven, I have no more fear of you! Yes! you may shake your stick at me, and threaten to take my life, but it is useless! This,” pointing to the dead boy upon the bed, “was the only tie I had to the Red House, and as soon as he is dressed for his grave, I shall leave you for ever!”
“And where would you go?” enquired the Baroness. The voice did not sound like her own; it was the cracked dry voice of a very old woman.
“That is no concern of yours, my lady,” replied Miss Wynward, as she prepared to quit the room. “Be good enough to let me pass! The inexcusable manner in which you have insulted that poor young lady, Miss Brandt, makes me feel that my first duty is to her!”
“I forbid you—” commenced Madame Gobelli in her old tone, but the ex-governess simply looked her in the face and passed on. She made the woman feel that her power was gone.
Miss Wynward found Harriet in her own room, tossing all her possessions into her travelling trunks. There was no doubt of her intention. She was going to leave the Red House.
“Not at this time of night, my dear,” said Miss Wynward, kindly, “it is nearly nine o’clock.”
“I would go if I had to walk the street all night!” replied Harriet, feverishly.
Her eyes were inflamed with crying, and she shook like an aspen leaf.
“Oh! Miss Wynward, such awful things to say! What could she mean? What have I done to be so cruelly insulted? And when I am so sorry for poor Bobby too!”
She began to cry afresh as she threw dresses, mantles, stockings, and shoes one on the top of the other, in her endeavour to pack as quickly as possible.