"I know perfectly well when they went away," said Sedley, drily.
Miss Agnes nodded with a scarcely perceptible smile.
"And I know—that is, I found out afterwards—that he admired her, I mean the young lady—Margaret, they called her—awfully. He never let me know it himself, though. I hate fellows being so close and dark about everything, and I've found out other things; and, in short, if people don't like to tell me their—secrets I won't call them, for everyone in Cardyllian knows all about them—I'm hanged if I ask them. All I know is, that Cleve is going to live a good deal at Ware, which means at Cardyllian, which will be a charming thing, a positive blessing,—won't it?—for the inhabitants and neighbours; and that I shall trouble them very little henceforward with my presence. There's Charity beckoning to me; would you mind my going to see what she wants?"
So, dismissed, away he ran like a "fielder" after a "by," as he had often run over the same ground before.
"Thomas Sedley, I want you to tell Lyster, the apothecary, to send a small bottle of sal volatile to Miss Christian immediately. I'd go myself—it's only round the corner—but I'm afraid of the crowd. If he can give it to you now, perhaps you'd bring it, and I'll wait here."
When he brought back the phial, and Miss Charity had given it with a message at Miss Christian's trelliced door, she took Tom's arm, and said,—
"She has not been looking well."
"You mean Agnes?" conjectured he.
"Yes, of course. She's not herself. She does not tell me, but I know the cause, and, as an old friend of ours, and a friend, beside, of Mr. Cleve Verney, I must tell you that I think he is using her disgracefully."
"Really?"