The only comforter—if such it might be deemed—whom Blanche had, was Mrs. Pendray, her kind indulgent mother. She, poor lady, knew nothing of the love affair, and attributed her darling daughter's illness to another cause, and overwhelmed the sufferer with well-meant attentions, and loaded her with dainties of all sorts—none of which could Blanche touch.
The old squire was concerned to see his little pet pining away, and refusing all nourishment; but his pride would not permit him to yield in any one particular.
Miss Pendray, too, had her moments of secret anxiety; for Mr. Morley had not written to anyone, as far as she knew, since his first letter to Lieut. Fowler, and he had now been gone a fortnight. Lieut. Fowler might have heard, perhaps, but she had been the means of precluding the possibility of knowing; for it was in consequence of her tale-bearing to her father that he had been forbidden the house. She did not, perhaps, calculate on the mischief she was doing, when her pride and her ungovernable passion prompted her to betray her sister.
CHAPTER XXVII. THE STEP IN THE WRONG DIRECTION.
It was a curious fact that everyone who spoke of Mr. Freeman, wound up their description of him by saying that he had something on his mind;—but what that something was, or by what means they had ascertained the fact, or why they had come to that conclusion, they could not tell. There was, certainly, some mystery about him, inasmuch as he kept a good deal to himself, and generally appeared thoughtful and taciturn. He had come to St. Just from some distant part of England, many years before, and had bought the house in which he resided, and lived there alone for some time. Then Miss Freeman came. He called her his sister;—some said she was his wife; but, as neither of them cared much what was said about them, gossips got tired at last, and allowed them to be what they were—brother and sister.
Years rolled on; and Mr. and Miss Freeman continued to reside at St. Just, and to mix occasionally with the people, but no one seemed really to know them a bit better than they did at first. Their motto seemed to be, "to hear, see, and be silent."
One hot summer, an epidemic broke out in the parish. There was no doctor nearer at that time than Penzance. It was too expensive for the poor to send for him at such a distance, and many of them died for want of medical assistance.
Mr. Freeman did not, at first, take much notice of it,—he kept aloof. At length, a boy who went errands for him, and did other jobs, caught the infection. Mr. Freeman went to see him, and gave him some medicine which cured him. This got abroad, and Mr. Freeman was sought after, and he cured many others.