So Frances was able to say a hopeful word to the young wife before she sent her into the vicarage, promising to look her up at home before long; and when Jenny disappeared through the glass door of Mr Ferraby’s study, she turned away again with a feeling of relief, so far as her poor friends were concerned.
Chapter Twenty Four.
“The Secret of the Panel.”
Frances stood for a moment in hesitation. Should she go home at once, or stroll a little farther? No one was wanting her at Fir Cottage just then, and she rather shrank from tête-à-têtes with her sisters in their present suspense. Her glance fell on the old church, and there came upon her a strange feeling of attraction thither, overmastering the remembrance of the shock she had received there. And somehow, almost before she knew it, for the door was again open, she found herself in the old pew in the very same corner where both she and Eira had in different ways been so startled.
Her glance fell on the woodwork where her frill had caught. Yes, the little splinter was still sticking out. She touched it: it was stronger than she had thought, and did not yield to her intention of pulling it off. She pulled again, then pressed it backwards.
“I must either pull it off or push it in,” she thought, “or it will be tearing our things.”
But the pressing had an unexpected effect. Suddenly something gave way under her fingers: the whole little panel, about a foot in length, fell in with a clatter, and she saw before her a small cupboard of which she had inadvertently touched the spring, something like the concealed boxes to be found in the wainscoting of old windows, which used to be called “fan cupboards.”
