Entering the house, she went upstairs. It was not likely that Jane had left the drawer unlocked; still it might have happened so, from inadvertence or else. But no. Miss Hallet stood in Jane's room and pulled at the drawer in question, which was the first long drawer in the chest. It resisted her efforts. Taking her own keys from her pocket, she tried every likely one, but none would fit. Nevertheless, she determined to get those letters on the first opportunity, believing it to lie in her duty. Not a shade of doubt arose in her mind, as to Mrs. Bent's clever theory: she was as sure the drawer contained Harry Castlemaine's love-letters, as though she had it open and saw them lying before her. Love-letters, and nothing else. What else, was there, that Jane should care to conceal?
"Jane's instincts are those of a lady," thought Miss Hallet, looking round the neat room approvingly at the pretty taste displayed, at the little ornamental things on the muslin-draped dressing-table. "Yes, they are. And there's her Bible and Prayer-book on their own stand; and there's--but--dear me! where on earth did these spring from?"
She had come to a glass of hot-house flowers. Not many. Half a dozen or so; but they were fresh, and of rare excellence.
"Jane must have brought them in last night. Smuggled them in, I should say, for I saw none in her hand. It is easy to know where they came from; there's only one hot-house in the whole place, and that's at Greylands' Rest."
Miss Hallet went down more vexed than she had come up. She was very precise and strait-laced: no one could deny that: but here was surely enough food to disturb her. Just after she had resumed her walk outside, her mind running upon how she could best contrive to have the drawer opened, and so get at the love-letters, Jane appeared.
Slowly and wearily was she ascending the cliff, as if she could hardly put one foot before the other. Miss Hallet could but notice it. Her face was pale; the one unoccupied arm hung down heavily, the head was bent.
"You look tired to death, Jane! What have you been doing to fatigue yourself like that?"
Jane started at the salutation, lifted her head, and saw her aunt. As if by magic, her listless manner changed, and she ran up the short bit of remaining path briskly. Her pale face had taken quite a glow of colour when she reached Miss. Hallet.
"I am not tired, aunt. I was only thinking."
"Thinking of what?" returned Miss Hallett. "You looked and walked as though you were tired: that's all I know."