CHAPTER XII
I HEAR STRANGE CONFIDENCES
BUT when she sat down she did not appear able to speak. Twice she opened her lips, but it seemed that no words would come.
“Don’t tell me unless you want to, Mrs. McNab,” I said, pitying the poor, strained face. “You are just tired out, and I know that your hand is hurting. Do rest quietly on my bed for a little while, and I will dress it.”
To my surprise, she did not resist me. She let me put her on my bed, lying silently, with closed eyes, while I dressed her hand and bandaged it freshly. Then I had a new inspiration.
“Please don’t move,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
I ran down to the kitchen and made some strong coffee. Julia was there, sewing. She wanted to relieve me of the task altogether, and insisted on getting the tray ready.
“I’d not say ‘no’ to a cup, meself, miss, if you could spare it,” she said. “This place do be gettin’ on me nerves. There’s the misthress goin’ about all this day lookin’ like a walkin’ ghost—up an’ down the stairs an’ in an’ out like a dog at a fair. Is it for her you’re makin’ the coffee now? But it’ll get cold on you before she comes in.”
I opened my mouth to say that Mrs. McNab was in my room; and then changed my mind suddenly.
“Why do you say that, Julia?”
“Sure I’m afther seein’ her with me two eyes, goin’ out ten minutes ago. Slippin’ along by the back wall she was, in her grey gown, as if she didn’t want to be seen. I was comin’ in from the laundry, an’ me heart rose in me throat at the sight of her—though the dear knows I’ve a right to be used to seein’ her creepin’ round the place. If she’d so much as pass the time of day to one, I’d not think her so queer; but ’tis like a silent grey ghost she is—never a worrd out of her. What with that, an’ the thieves that may pay us a visit anny minute, it’s no right place to be in: I’d take me pay an’ go, if it wasn’t for yourself an’ Mrs. Winter.”