“How can I possibly tell, Mrs. Busk? He seems to know a great deal too much. He found me out when I was at Colonel Gundry's. At least I conclude so, from what I know now; but I hope he does not know”—and at such a dreadful idea I shuddered.
“I am almost sure that he can not know it,” the good postmistress answered, “or he would have found means to put an end to you. That would have been his first object.”
“But, Mrs. Busk,” I said, being much disturbed by her calmness, “surely, surely he is not to be allowed to make an end of every one! I came to this country with the full intention of going into every thing. But I did not mean at all, except in my very best moments, to sacrifice myself. It seems too bad—too bad to think of.”
“So it is, Miss Erema,” Mrs. Busk replied, without any congenial excitement. “It does seem hard for them that have the liability on them. But still, miss, you have always shown such a high sense of duty, and of what you were about—”
“I can't—I can not. There are times, I do assure you, when I am fit for nothing, Mrs. Busk, and wish myself back in America. And if this man is to have it all his own way—”
“Not he, miss—not he. Be you in no hurry. Could he even have his way with our old miller? No; Master Withypool was too many for him.”
“That is a new thing. You never told me that. What did he try to do with the miller?”
“I don't justly know what it was, Miss Erema. I never spoke to miller about it, and, indeed, I have had no time since I heard of it. But those that told me said that the tall strange gentleman was terribly put out, and left the gate with a black cloud upon his face, and the very next day the miller's daughter died, quite sudden and mysterious.”
“How very strange! But now I have got a new idea. Has the miller a strong high dam to his pond, and a good stout sluice-gate at the end!”
“Yes, miss, to be sure he has,” said Mrs. Busk; “otherwise how could he grind at all, when the river is so low as it is sometimes?”