She had not reached the landing, however, before Priscilla was beside her.
“Ma’am—Mrs. Dudley,” began the girl, “you can turn me out of the house this moment, if you like. I told you a lie about that letter. I did not go to Miss Bessie’s room for it. Miss Bessie is gone.”
“Gone!” Heather looked at the girl, and blankly repeated that word after her.
“Yes, ma’am; and there is a letter for you, please, on the toilet-table,” at which point in her confession Prissy began to whimper.
“Don’t do that,” said Mrs. Dudley, almost angrily. “Go on before me to Miss Ormson’s room, and be quiet.”
Thus ordered, Priscilla walked along the passage, and, opening the door of Bessie’s bedchamber, stood aside to allow Mrs. Dudley to enter.
Heather, as she did so, glanced hurriedly round the apartment. There was no disorder, no confusion; everything looked precisely as it might have done, had Bessie been there—only Bessie was not there.
Heather went up to the bed, and put her hand on the sheet. It felt warm, and she turned to Priscilla, saying, interrogatively—
“She has only just left the house?”
“She went at one o’clock, ma’am.”