When Miss Joyce got home she found, waiting in the sitting-room which had so recently been Rodney's, Mr. Austin. The gentleman regarded her as she came in with an air of grave disapprobation.
"You are, I believe, the landlady's daughter."
Mabel nodded.
"I have just had a few words with your mother, who appears to be an extraordinary woman, and who has told me an extraordinary tale."
"My mother's not in the habit of telling extraordinary tales to anyone."
"Then, what does she mean by--by talking stuff and nonsense about Mr. Elmore's having gone, and--and I don't know what besides?"
Miss Joyce drew a long breath, and seemed to nerve herself for an effort. She had had a good deal to bear that morning, and to retain even a vestige of self-command needed all her efforts.
"Mr. Austin, Mr. Elmore has gone, and he's left a letter behind him in which he pretends that he has committed suicide; but he hasn't, I know better. But here's the letter; you might like to look at it."
He read the letter with which we are already familiar; and it had a very similar effect on him to that which it had had on others, only in his case he read it over and over again, as if to make sure that its meaning had not escaped him, yet that its meaning had escaped him his words made plain.
"You--you may understand this letter, young woman, but I certainly do not. What--what does this most extraordinary, and, as it seems to me, inconsequent, letter mean?"