Chelford looked at her, very much amazed.
'Yes; you are worse than Sir Harry Bracton—for you're no fool; and worse than that wicked old man. Major Jackson—who shall never enter these doors again—for he was employed—trusted in their brutal plans; but you had no excuse and every opportunity—and you have allowed your Cousin Stanley to be murdered.'
'You do me great injustice, Dorcas. I did not know, or even suspect that a hostile meeting between poor Lake and Bracton was thought of. I merely heard that there had been some trifling altercation in the supper-room; and when, intending to make peace between them, I alluded to it, just before we left, and Bracton said it was really nothing—quite blown over—and that he could not recollect what either had said. I was entirely deceived—you know I speak truth—quite deceived. They think it fair, you know, to dupe other people in such affairs; and I will also say,' he continued, a little haughtily, 'that you might have spared your censure until at least you had heard what I had to say.'
'I do believe you, Chelford; you are not vexed with me. Won't you shake hands?'
He took her hand with a smile.
'And now,' said she, 'Chelford, ought not we to send for poor Rachel: her only brother? Is not it sad?'
'Certainly; shall I ask my mother, or will you write?'
'I will write,' she said.