Directly the dying man saw her, his expression changed to one of intense eagerness. Beckoning her to come close to him, he drew her head close to his face and said: ‘She is not about, is she? Do you think she can hear what I am saying? Sometimes I fancy she hears my very thoughts.’
‘No, sir,’ replied the maid. ‘Miss Wakefield is not in the house just now; she has gone into the village.’
‘Very good. Listen, and answer me truly. Do you ever hear from—from Nelly now? Poor child, poor child!’
The woman’s face changed from one of interest to that of shame and remorse. She looked into the old man’s face, and then burst into a fit of hot passionate tears.
‘Hush, hush!’ he cried, terrified by her vehemence. ‘For God’s sake, stop, or it will be too late, too late!’
‘O sir, I must tell you,’ sobbed the contrite woman, burying her face in the bedclothes. ‘Letters came from Miss Nelly to you, time after time; but I destroyed them all.’
‘Why?’ The voice was stern, and the girl looked up affrighted.
‘O sir, forgive me. Surely you know. Is it possible to get an order from Miss Wakefield, and not obey? Indeed, I have tried to speak, but I was afraid to do anything. Even you, sir’——
‘Ah,’ said the invalid, with a sigh of ineffable sadness, ‘I know how hard it is. The influence she has over one is wonderful, wonderful. But I am forgetting. Margaret Boulton, look me in the face. Do you love Miss Nelly as you used to do, and would you do something for her if I asked you?’
‘God be my witness, I would, sir,’ replied the girl solemnly.