“Lizzie!” cried I, “child, you forget what you are saying, and where you are!”
“Oh no, no’ me!” cried Lizzie with vehement tears in her eyes; “but, Mem, it maun be her; there’s nae other leddy except our leddy in this house. And if I was never to say another word, she’s no canny; I ken she’s no canny, if it was only what Domenico says.”
“In the name of wonder what does Domenico say?” cried I, driven to despair by the wild words in which there was no meaning. I don’t believe she knew herself what the meaning was.
Lizzie stopped short and repeated, with a puzzled and troubled glance at me, “When it’s a long story it’s awfu’ fickle to ken,” she said, slowly; “but just that yon’s the leddy. Eh, I dinna ken what they ca’ her right, nor what ill-will they have at her; but ’Menico, he says—he says—Mem, you’ll no be angry, it wasna me,—he says she’s the deil himsel’.”
“Lizzie,” said I, in considerable agitation, “try to recollect; Miss Milly wants to know; what does Domenico say?”
Lizzie blushed, and made a long pause again. “You see it’s the Dictionary, Mem,” she said, with a sigh. “When he’s tired looking up the words, he just gi’es a great burst out in the Italian, and thinks he’s explained it a’. It’s awfu’ fickle when it’s a lang story; but just it’s her; and eh! I’m sure she’s no canny by what Domenico says.”
I had to be content with this very unsatisfactory conclusion. It was all Lizzie could give me,—it was her; and she was a dreaded mysterious person against whom the Italian was struggling in vain. I felt a strange thrill of curiosity, deeply as my own mind was pre-occupied. Was it a melodrama or a tragedy I was about to be present at? The crisis, whatever it might be, could not be long delayed. What part were we to play in it? why did she want Harry to stay? I did not say anything either to him or Aunt Milly of Lizzie’s communication or my own fancies; but it seemed to me somehow, when I passed through the rooms or along the passages that a certain tingling stillness, the pause before the storm, was closing round and round about the house.
Chapter VI.
“WE were interrupted in our talk yesterday,” said Aunt Milly, “but I have not forgotten what you said about your little maid. My dear, I don’t think it is worth your while to warn her against talking about such matters. When they think a thing’s important, they are all the more likely to talk.”
“But you don’t know Lizzie,” said I.