“Thank you; I am sure you have done what is necessary,” said Kate, who in her low nervous state was troubled by the woman’s persistent inquiring stare.
“Is there anything I can do for you, miss?”
“Thank you, no. I am very tired, and will try and sleep.”
“Because I can soon get you a cup of tea, miss.”
“Not now, thank you. In the morning. I will not trouble you now.”
“It’s to-morrow morning a’ready, my dear, and nothing’s a trouble to me,” said the woman, despondently, “’cept Becky.”
“Thank you very much, but please leave me now.”
“Yes, miss, of course. There’s the bells: one rings upstairs and the other down, so it will be safest to ring ’em both, for it’s a big house—yes,” she continued, thoughtfully, “a very big house, and there’s no knowing where Becky and me may be.”
“Ah,” sighed Kate, as at last she was relieved from the pertinacious curious stare, for the door had closed; but as she sank wearily in a lounge chair the housekeeper seemed photographed upon her brain, and one moment she was staring at her with candle held above her head, the next it was the face of the handsome woman above the door, peering inquiringly down as if wondering to see her there.
The candles burned brightly and the fire crackled and blazed, and then there was a peculiar roaring sound as of the train rushing along through the black night; the room grew darker, and shrank in its proportions till it was the gloomy first-class carriage, with the oil washing to and fro in the thick glass bubble lamp, while John Garstang sat back in the corner, and Kate started up, to shake her head and stare about her wonderingly, as she mentally asked herself where she was, and shivered as she recognised the fire, and the candles upon the mantelpiece.