"Not quite. To tell you the truth, Mr. St. John," she continued in quiet, confidential tones, "the sight of that woman, Honour Tritton, had as much to do with my headache as the heat. You know who she was, I presume--nurse to my poor little stepson; the woman to whose unpardonable carelessness his death was attributable. I have never been able to think of the woman since without horror, and the unexpected sight of her--for I had no idea she was at Castle Wafer--was almost too much for me."
"She is one of the servants here," observed Frederick, not very well knowing what else to answer.
"As I hear. I wonder Sir Isaac should have engaged her. However, of course, that is no business of mine. I hope she will not come into my way again, for I have a perfect horror of her. But for her wickedness, we might all still have been happy at Alnwick."
She rose as she spoke, and went on the lawn. Mrs. St. John was there. Sir Isaac was then in his own sitting-room, and Frederick went in to him. The table was strewed with papers, and he was writing rapidly.
"Look at this," he said to Frederick, holding out a letter, and in his voice might be traced a sound of annoyance. "It is incomprehensible how people can be so stupid."
"Are you writing to stop it?" asked Frederick, when he had read the note.
"I am writing; but whether it will be in time to stop it, is another matter. The letter only came by this afternoon's post."
"I should telegraph," said Frederick. Sir Isaac laid down his pen. "It might be the better plan, But you can say so little in a message."
"Do both," advised the younger brother. "I will go off at once and send the message, and you can post your letter afterwards. You will then have the satisfaction of knowing that all has been done that can be done."
"Yes, that will be better. If you don't mind the trouble. But you will hardly be back by dinner-time."