“And where is that letter?” asked Mrs. Dudley.
“On the hall table, ma’am, I believe. Miss Bessie left it there herself after she had wrote it.”
“What made you lock the passage-door after you?”
“Miss Bessie told me to, ma’am.”
Heather could not understand the matter at all. She did not believe that there was a sentence of truth in the girl’s statement; but what her object might be in speaking falsely, she was unable to imagine.
“Miss Ormson is awake, then?” she said, at length.
“Yes, ma’am—leastways she was when I saw her.”
Without another word, Mrs. Dudley turned to regain the hall. She wanted to see if the letter were really on the slab, and then she meant to go to Bessie’s room and ascertain whether or not Priscilla had spoken falsely.
The whole thing baffled Heather. But for the locking of the door, she should have thought nothing more about the matter; but what object either Bessie or Priscilla could have in thus cutting off immediate communication between the two parts of the house, she was quite unable to divine.
There on the slab lay Bessie’s letter—a thick letter, for Heather lifted and held it in her hand for a moment; then she laid it down again, and ascended the front staircase, slowly and thoughtfully.