CHAPTER XI.
Miss Bostal shut the door when the detective had gone, drew a shivering sigh as she folded the shawl more tightly about her thin person, and went into the dining-room.
Sitting on one of the horsehair-covered chairs in the darkness, was Nell. Miss Bostal sighed again as she placed carefully upon the table the lighted candle she had brought with her from the drawing-room.
“I feel very guilty and ashamed of myself,” she murmured, rather peevishly, “for having told the man you were gone when I knew you had gone no farther than this. But I had to choose the less of two evils, for I was afraid, my dear, that you could not bear another long, worrying cross-examination from him just now.”
“You were quite right, Miss Theodora, and as kind as you always are,” said Nell, affectionately.
The poor girl looked indeed worn out, and the words she uttered seemed to come mechanically from weary lips.
“Come into the kitchen, child, where it is warm,” said Miss Bostal, briskly. “I will make you a nice, hot cup of tea, and then you will feel better.”
“Has Jem Stickels gone, then?” asked Nell, apprehensively.
“Oh, yes! I sent him off very quickly.”
“Do you—” Nell faltered and began to blush and to tremble—“do you think he told the—the detective—anything?”