'Dorcas, dear,' said Rachel, after both had been silent for a time, speaking suddenly, and with a look of pale and keen entreaty—'Beware of Stanley—oh! beware, beware. I think I am beginning to grow afraid of him myself.'
Dorcas was not given to sighing—but she sighed—gazing sadly across the wide, bleak moor, with her proud, apathetic look, which seemed passively to defy futurity—and then, for awhile, they were silent.
She turned, and caressingly smoothed the golden tresses over Rachel's frank, white forehead, and kissed them as she did so.
'You are better, darling; you are rested?' she said.
'Yes, dear Dorcas,' and she kissed the slender hand that smoothed her hair.
Each understood that the conversation on that theme was ended, and somehow each was relieved.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
SIR JULIUS HOCKLEY'S LETTER.
Jos. Larkin mentioned in his conversation with the vicar, just related, that he had received a power of attorney from Mark Wylder. Connected with this document there came to light a circumstance so very odd, that the reader must at once be apprised of it.
This legal instrument was attested by two witnesses, and bore date about a week before the interview, just related, between the vicar and Mr. Larkin. Here, then, was a fact established. Mark Wylder had returned from Boulogne, for the power of attorney had been executed at Brighton. Who were the witnesses? One was Thomas Tupton, of the Travellers' Hotel, Brighton.