Then I felt as if the study had suddenly grown lighter. Before long Mr. Rayner returned. I said nothing about Sarah’s visit, and nothing about my own departure, until after I had done the very little there was to do in settling the accounts of the penny-bank. This work had been only an excuse for giving me a holiday, because I looked ill, I felt sure; and, when it was finished, Mr. Rayner sent me back to the arm-chair again and poured me out a glass of wine. I began to feel nervous about my announcement.
“Have you quite got over your cruel fright now, little woman?” said he kindly.
“As much as one can get over a thing like that,” I said, in a low voice, my fingers shaking.
“One can’t forget it at once, of course; but I hope that a little care and a little kindness will soon drive that unpleasant adventure right out of your head.”
“If you mean your care and your kindness,” said I, looking up gratefully, “why, you can’t give me more than you have given me already, Mr. Rayner. But there are some experiences which one can never forget except away from the scenes where they happened. And, oh, Mr. Rayner,” I went on quickly, “you mustn’t think me ungrateful or capricious; but I have packed my boxes, and I want to ask you to release me from my engagement and let me go back to London by this afternoon’s train! For, if I had to sleep in that room another night, I should go mad!”
He came and sat by my side.
“My dear child,” he said gravely, “you can’t do that—for our sakes.”
“But I must—I must indeed!” I cried piteously. “You don’t know, you can’t tell what I suffered when I felt her hand creeping up to my throat, and thought I was going to be killed—I did indeed! And then I thought the stuff on the handkerchief was poison. She says it is only something to make you sleep. Is it true, Mr. Rayner? Here is the handkerchief.” And I pulled it from my pocket and gave it to him.
“Quite true,” said he; but I saw him frown. “It is chloroform, which she got out of my medicine-chest; I missed the bottle this morning. No, that wouldn’t have hurt you, child; I don’t suppose for a moment she meant to hurt you. But it was a cruel trick, all the same. Do you know”—and he looked at me searchingly—“what she did it for?”
“Oh, yes, she told me! She wanted to get at a letter—from a—from a friend, which I wore round my neck.” I felt myself blushing violently, knowing from what I had overheard Sarah say to him on the previous night that he knew all about that foolish pendant. “She wanted to read it, and she couldn’t get it without stupefying me, because I was holding it. But I have forgiven her, and promised I would ask you to let her stay. I told her it wouldn’t matter what I said; but she made me promise.”