‘Oh! where is it?’ she almost panted.
Ellen opened a little handbag which she had beside her, and gave Sara an envelope which she took from it. Sara opened it, read the words contained in it, and looked blankly round, with a face which seemed in a moment to have turned ashen-grey. All the days of preparation, of suspicion and suspense, had been powerless to diminish the force of the blow when it came.
‘My God!’ she whispered, crushing the paper in her hand, and then suddenly dropping it from her fingers as if it scorched or stung them.
As Ellen came nearer, alarmed from her weariness, Sara put her hand upon the woman’s shoulder, grasping it with a grip of iron, and confronting her straitly, said:
‘Tell me the whole truth. What have you heard? What has happened? What did you hear of or from Mr. Wellfield, that made you wish to leave? Speak out, Ellen—the whole truth.’
‘I heard that he was engaged to the young lady at the Abbey—Miss Bolton.’
‘And do you think it is true?’
‘I do, ma’am. Miss Wellfield did nothing but cry from half an hour after the time we got into the house. When she said good-bye to me, she said: “Tell Sara—no, I can send her no message; I am not fit to look at her again—none of us are!”’
Her arm dropped from Ellen’s shoulder. She put her hand to her head.
‘Where is the letter?’ she said, wearily. ‘Oh, here!’ And she stooped forward to pick it up; but, as if growing suddenly dizzy, dropped upon her knees, stretched out her arms, and would have fallen had not Ellen, running up, caught her, and pillowed her head upon her breast.