"Come with me upstairs, Mr. Gilbert."
"Dorothy, what ails you? Why are you so dreadfully excited? Have you seen anything?" He had heard of her encounter with the supernatural on the heath, and for a moment was possessed with the idea that she had seen the apparition of his mother.
"It is no risen angel," cried the excited girl, "but a human fiend! I want you to see. Follow me, Gilbert, if you ever loved me, and vindicate my honour."
Alarmed, for he had never seen Dorothy in such a passion before, and anxious to learn the cause of her distress, he followed her swift footsteps into the attic, where he found his wife still standing beside the half-corded trunk, tapping the floor with her foot, and humming the tune of a country dance.
She smiled disdainfully, as Dorothy put the key into Gilbert's hand.
"Here is the key of my trunk; will you please to open it, and empty the contents upon the floor?"
"What for Dorothy? you amaze me—what have I to do with it?"
"To satisfy the suspicions of that woman, I cannot call her lady, the lie would choke me. She has demanded the inspection of its contents, lest I should leave the home of my childhood, on the night of my beloved mother's funeral, with stolen goods in my possession."
At the mention of Mrs. Rushmere's name, who had so loved and trusted her, the hot fire of anger was quenched, and she turned so faint, she had to lean against the low wall of the attic for support.
"What a fine piece of acting," sneered Sophia, "it's a pity the girl had not been brought up for the stage."