Robert's story, and the strange disappearance of the notes, had of course been imparted to Percy and Herbert. In fact, the change in the young man, from being as light-hearted as his young master himself, to gravity and almost gloom—for the conviction of his master and mistress, as to his innocence could not cheer him, while suspicion against him still actuated Morris, and many of the other servants—would have called the young men's attention toward him at once. The various paths and glades between the Hall and Mrs. Langford's cottage had been so searched, that unless the storm had destroyed them or blown the notes very far away, it seemed next to impossible, that they could not be found. Mr. Hamilton knew the number of each note, had told them to his wife, and gave notice at his banker's that though he did not wish them stopped, he should like to know, if possible, when they had passed. No notice of such a thing had been sent to Oakwood, and it seemed curious that, if found and appropriated, they should not yet have been used, for ten weeks had now slipped away since their loss, and nearly nine since the letters had been sent to Edward and his captain, answers to which had not yet been received; but that was nothing remarkable, for Edward seldom wrote above once in three or four months.
It was nearing the end of August, when one afternoon Mrs. Hamilton was prevented joining her children in a sail up the Dart, though it had been a long promise, and Percy was, in consequence, excessively indignant; but certain matters relative to the steward's province demanded a reference to his mistress, and Morris was compelled to request a longer interview than usual. Ellen had chosen to join the aquatic party, a decision now so contrary to her usual habits, that Mrs. Hamilton could not help fancying it was to prevent the chance of being any time alone with her. There had been no change in her manner, except a degree more care to control the disrespectful or pettish answer; but nothing to give hope that the spirit was changing, and that the hidden error, whatever it might be, would be acknowledged and atoned. Mrs. Hamilton was nerving her own mind for the performance of the alternative she had placed before her niece; passing many a sleepless night in painful meditations. If to send her from Oakwood were necessary, would it produce the effect she wished? with whom could she place her? and what satisfactory reason could she assign for doing so? She knew there would be a hundred tongues to cry shame on her for sending her orphan niece from her roof, but that was but one scarcely-tasted bitter drop in the many other sources of anxiety. But still these were but her nightly sorrows; she might have been paler when she rose, but though her children felt quite sure that Ellen was grieving her exceedingly, her cheerful sympathy in their enjoyments and pursuits never waned for a moment.
Morris left her at six o'clock, all his business so satisfactorily accomplished, that the old man was quite happy, declaring to Ellis, he had always thought his mistress unlike any one else before; but such a clear head for reducing difficult accounts and tangled affairs to order, he had never imagined could either be possessed by, or was any business of a woman. Not in the least aware of the wondering admiration she had excited, Mrs. Hamilton had called Robert and proceeded to the school-room to get a pattern of embroidery and a note, which Caroline had requested might be sent to Annie Grahame that evening; the note was on the table, but the pattern and some silks she had neglected to put up till her brothers were ready, and they so hurried her, that her mother had promised she would see to it for her. The embroidery box was in a paneled closet of the school-room, rather high up, and in taking especial care to bring it safely down, Robert loosened a desk from its equilibrium, and it fell to the ground with such force as to break into several pieces, and scatter all its contents over the floor. It was Ellen's! the pretty rosewood desk which had been her gift, that memorable New Year's Eve, and was now the repository of her dread secret. It was actually in fragments, especially where the ink-stands and pens had been, and the spring broken, the secret drawer burst open, and all its contents were disclosed. Robert was much too concerned to think of any thing but his own extreme carelessness, and his mistress's reprimand; and he busied himself in hastily picking up the contents, and placing them carefully on the table, preparatory to their arrangement by Mrs. Hamilton in a drawer of the table which she was emptying for the purpose. She laid them carefully in, and was looking over a book of very nicely written French themes, glad there was at least one thing for which she might be satisfied with Ellen, when an exclamation—
"Why, there is one of them! I am so glad," and as sudden, a stop and half-checked groan from Robert startled her. She looked inquiringly at him, but he only covered his face with one hand, while the other remained quite unconsciously covering the secret drawer out of which the contents had not fallen, but were merely disclosed.
"What is the matter, Robert? what have you found to cause such contradictory exclamations? Speak, for God's sake!" escaped from Mrs. Hamilton's lips, for by that lightning touch of association, memory, thought, whatever it may be, which joins events together, and unites present with past, so that almost a life seems crowded in a moment, such a suspicion flashed upon her as to make her feel sick and giddy, and turn so unusually pale, as effectually to rouse Robert, and make him spring up to get her a chair.
"Nothing, madam, indeed it can be nothing—I must be mistaken—I am acting like a fool this afternoon, doing the most unheard-of mischief, and then frightening you and myself at shadows."
"This evasion will not do, Robert; give me the papers at which you were so startled."
He hesitated, and Mrs. Hamilton extended her hand to take them herself; but her hand and arm so shook, that to hide it from her domestic, she let it quietly drop by her side, and repeated her command in a tone that brooked no farther delay. He placed the little drawer and its contents in her hand, and, without a word, withdrew into the farthest window. For full five, it might have been ten minutes, there was silence so deep, a pin-fall might have been loudly heard. It was broken by Mrs. Hamilton.
"Robert!"
There was neither change nor tremor in the voice, but the fearful expression of forcibly-controlled suffering on her deathlike countenance so awed and terrified him, he besought her, almost inarticulately, to let him fetch a glass of water—wine—something—