I SAY NO

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In the perfect stillness of the night, the clock of the village
church was distinctly audible, striking the hours and the
quarters. The moon had not risen; but the mysterious glimmer of
starlight trembled on the large open space between the trees and
the house.

Alban paused, admiring with an artist's eye the effect of light,
so faintly and delicately beautiful, on the broad expanse of the
lawn. "Does the man live who could paint that?" he asked himself.
His memory recalled the works of the greatest of all landscape
painters--the English artists of fifty years since. While
recollections of many a noble picture were still passing through
his mind, he was startled by the sudden appearance of a
bareheaded woman on the terrace steps.

She hurried down to the lawn, staggering as she ran--stopped, and
looked back at the house--hastened onward toward the
trees--stopped again, looking backward and forward, uncertain
which way to turn next--and then advanced once more. He could now
hear her heavily gasping for breath. As she came nearer, the
starlight showed a panic-stricken face--the face of Mrs.
Ellmother.

Alban ran to meet her. She dropped on the grass before he could
cross the short distance which separated them. As he raised her
in his arms she looked at him wildly, and murmured and muttered
in the vain attempt to speak. "Look at me again," he said. "Don't
you remember the man who had some talk with you to-day?" She
still stared at him vacantly: he tried again. "Don't you remember
Miss Emily's friend?"

As the name passed his lips, her mind in some degree recovered
its balance. "Yes," she said; "Emily's friend; I'm glad I have
met with Emily's friend." She caught at Alban's arm--starting as
if her own words had alarmed her. "What am I talking about? Did I
say 'Emily'? A servant ought to say 'Miss Emily.' My head swims.
Am I going mad?"

Alban led her to one of the garden chairs. "You're only a little
frightened," he said. "Rest, and compose yourself."

She looked over her shoulder toward the house. "Not here! I've
run away from a she-devil; I want to be out of sight. Further
away, Mister--I don't know your name. Tell me your name; I won't
trust you, unless you tell me your name!"

"Hush! hush! Call me Alban."

"I never heard of such a name; I won't trust you."

"You won't trust your friend, and Emily's friend? You don't mean
that, I'm sure. Call me by my other name--call me 'Morris.'"

"Morris?" she repeated. "Ah, I've heard of people called
'Morris.' Look back! Your eyes are young--do you see her on the
terrace?"

"There isn't a living soul to be seen anywhere."

With one hand he raised her as he spoke--and with the other he
took up the chair. In a minute more, they were out of sight of
the house. He seated her so that she could rest her head against
the trunk of a tree.

"What a good fellow!" the poor old creature said, admiring him;
"he knows how my head pains me. Don't stand up! You're a tall
man. She might see you."

"She can see nothing. Look at the trees behind us. Even the
starlight doesn't get through them."

Mrs. Ellmother was not satisfied yet. "You take it coolly," she
said. "Do you know who saw us together in the passage to-day? You
good Morris, _she_ saw us--she did. Wretch! Cruel, cunning,
shameless wretch."

In the shadows that were round them, Alban could just see that
she was shaking her clinched fists in the air. He made another
attempt to control her. "Don't excite yourself! If she comes into
the garden, she might hear you."

The appeal to her fears had its effect.

"That's true," she said, in lowered tones. A sudden distrust of
him seized her the next moment. "Who told me I was excited?" she
burst out. "It's you who are excited. Deny it if you dare; I
begin to suspect you, Mr. Morris; I don't like your conduct. What
has become of your pipe? I saw you put your pipe in your coat
pocket. You did it when you set me down among the trees where
_she_ could see me! You are in league with her--she is coming to
meet you here--you know she doesnÕt like tobacco-smoke. Are you
two going to put me in the madhouse?"

She started to her feet. It occurred to Alban that the speediest
way of pacifying her might be by means of the pipe. Mere words
would exercise no persuasive influence over that bewildered mind.
Insta nt action, of some kind, would be far more likely to have
the right effect. He put his pipe and his tobacco pouch into her
hands, and so mastered her attention before he spoke.

"Do you know how to fill a man's pipe for him?" he asked.

"Haven't I filled my husband's pipe hundreds of times?" she
answered sharply.

"Very well. Now do it for me."

She took her chair again instantly, and filled the pipe. He
lighted it, and seated himself on the grass, quietly smoking. "Do
you think I'm in league with her now?" he asked, purposely
adopting the rough tone of a man in her own rank of life.

She answered him as she might have answered her husband, in the
days of her unhappy marriage.

"Oh, don't gird at me, there's a good man! If I've been off my
head for a minute or two, please not to notice me. It's cool and
quiet here," the poor woman said gratefully. "Bless God for the
darkness; there's something comforting in the darkness--along
with a good man like you. Give me a word of advice. You are my
friend in need. What am I to do? I daren't go back to the house!"

She was quiet enough now, to suggest the hope that she might be
able to give Alban some information "Were you with Miss de Sor,"
he asked, "before you came out here? What did she do to frighten
you?'

There was no answer; Mrs. Ellmother had abruptly risen once more.
"Hush!" she whispered. "Don't I hear somebody near us?"

Alban at once went back, along the winding path which they had
followed. No creature was visible in the gardens or on the
terrace. On returning, he found it impossible to use his eyes to
any good purpose in the obscurity among the trees. He waited a
while, listening intently. No sound was audible: there was not
even air enough to stir the leaves.

As he returned to the place that he had left, the silence was
broken by the chimes of the distant church clock, striking the
three-quarters past ten.

Even that familiar sound jarred on Mrs. Ellmother's shattered
nerves. In her state of mind and body, she was evidently at the
mercy of any false alarm which might be raised by her own fears.
Relieved of the feeling of distrust which had thus far troubled
him, Alban sat down by her again--opened his match-box to relight
his pipe--and changed his mind. Mrs. Ellmother had unconsciously
warned him to be cautious.

For the first time, he thought it likely that the heat in the
house might induce some of the inmates to try the cooler
atmosphere in the grounds. If this happened, and if he continued
to smoke, curiosity might tempt them to follow the scent of
tobacco hanging on the stagnant air.

"Is there nobody near us?" Mrs. Ellmother asked. "Are you sure?"

"Quite sure. Now tell me, did you really mean it, when you said
just now that you wanted my advice?"

"Need you ask that, sir? Who else have I got to help me?"

"I am ready and willing to help you--but I can't do it unless I
know first what has passed between you and Miss de Sor. Will you
trust me?"

"I will!"

"May I depend on you?"

"Try me!"

CHAPTER XXXV.

THE TREACHERY OF THE PIPE.

Alban took Mrs. Ellmother at her word. "I am going to venture on
a guess," he said. "You have been with Miss de Sor to-night."

"Quite true, Mr. Morris."

"I am going to guess again. Did Miss de Sor ask you to stay with
her, when you went into her room?"

"That's it! She rang for me, to see how I was getting on with my
needlework--and she was what I call hearty, for the first time
since I have been in her service. I didn't think badly of her
when she first talked of engaging me; and I've had reason to
repent of my opinion ever since. Oh, she showed the cloven foot
to-night! 'Sit down,' she says; 'I've nothing to read, and I hate
work; let's have a little chat.' She's got a glib tongue of her
own. All I could do was to say a word now and then to keep her
going. She talked and talked till it was time to light the lamp.
She was particular in telling me to put the shade over it. We
were half in the dark, and half in the light. She trapped me
(Lord knows how!) into talking about foreign parts; I mean the
place she lived in before they sent her to England. Have you
heard that she comes from the West lndies?"

"Yes; I have heard that. Go on."

"Wait a bit, sir. There's something, by your leave, that I want
to know. Do you believe in Witchcraft?"

"I know nothing about it. Did Miss de Sor put that question to
you?"

"She did."

"And how did you answer?"

"Neither in one way nor the other. I'm in two minds about that
matter of Witchcraft. When I was a girl, there was an old woman
in our village, who was a sort of show. People came to see her
from all the country round--gentlefolks among them. It was her
great age that made her famous. More than a hundred years old,
sir! One of our neighbors didn't believe in her age, and she
heard of it. She cast a spell on his flock. I tell you, she sent
a plague on his sheep, the plague of the Bots. The whole flock
died; I remember it well. Some said the sheep would have had the
Bots anyhow. Some said it was the spell. Which of them was right?
How am I to settle it?"

"Did you mention this to Miss de Sor?"

"I was obliged to mention it. Didn't I tell you, just now, that I
can't make up my mind about Witchcraft? 'You don't seem to know
whether you believe or disbelieve,' she says. It made me look
like a fool. I told her I had my reasons, and then I was obliged
to give them."

"And what did she do then?"

"She said, 'I've got a better story of Witchcraft than yours.'
And she opened a little book, with a lot of writing in it, and
began to read. Her story made my flesh creep. It turns me cold,
sir, when I think of it now."

He heard her moaning and shuddering. Strongly as his interest was
excited, there was a compassionate reluctance in him to ask her
to go on. His merciful scruples proved to be needless. The
fascination of beauty it is possible to resist. The fascination
of horror fastens its fearful hold on us, struggle against it as
we may. Mrs. Ellmother repeated what she had heard, in spite of
herself.

"It happened in the West Indies," she said; "and the writing of a
woman slave was the writing in the little book. The slave wrote
about her mother. Her mother was a black--a Witch in her own
country. There was a forest in her own country. The devil taught
her Witchcraft in the forest. The serpents and the wild beasts
were afraid to touch her. She lived without eating. She was sold
for a slave, and sent to the island--an island in the West
Indies. An old man lived there; the wickedest man of them all. He
filled the black Witch with devilish knowledge. She learned to
make the image of wax. The image of wax casts spells. You put
pins in the image of wax. At every pin you put, the person under
the spell gets nearer and nearer to death. There was a poor black
in the island. He offended the Witch. She made his image in wax;
she cast spells on him. He couldn't sleep; he couldn't eat; he
was such a coward that common noises frightened him. Like Me! Oh,
God, like me!"

"Wait a little," Alban interposed. "You are exciting yourself
again--wait."

"You're wrong, sir! You think it ended when she finished her
story, and shut up her book; there's worse to come than anything
you've heard yet. I don't know what I did to offend her. She
looked at me and spoke to me, as if I was the dirt under her
feet. 'If you're too stupid to understand what I have been
reading,' she says, 'get up and go to the glass. Look at
yourself, and remember what happened to the slave who was under
the spell. You're getting paler and paler, and thinner and
thinner; you're pining away just as he did. Shall I tell you
why?' She snatched off the shade from the lamp, and put her hand
under the table, and brought out an image of wax. _My_ image! She
pointed to three pins in it. 'One,' she says, 'for no sleep. One
for no appetite. One for broken nerves.' I asked her what I had
done to make such a bitter enemy of her. She says, 'Remember what
I asked of you when we talked of your being my servant. Choose
which you will do? Die by inches' (I swear she said it as I hope
to be saved); 'die by inches, or tell me--'"

There--in the full frenzy of the agitation that possessed
her--there, Mrs. Ellmother suddenly stopped.

Alban's first impression was that she might have fainted. He
looked closer, and could just see her shadowy figure still seated
in the chair. He asked if she was ill. No.

"Then why don't you go on?"

"I have done," she answered.

"Do you think you can put me off," he rejoined sternly, "with
such an excuse as that? What did Miss de Sor ask you to tell her?
You promised to trust me. Be as good as your word."

In the days of her health and strength, she would have set him at
defiance. All she could do now was to appeal to his mercy.

"Make some allowance for me," she said. "I have been terribly
upset. What has become of my courage? What has broken me down in
this way? Spare me, sir."

He refused to listen. "This vile attempt to practice on your
fears may be repeated," he reminded her. "More cruel advantage
may be taken of the nervous derangement from which you are
suffering in the climate of this place. You little know me, if
you think I will allow that to go on."

She made a last effort to plead with him. "Oh sir, is this
behaving like the good kind man I thought you were? You say you
are Miss Emily's friend? Don't press me--for Miss Emily's sake!"

"Emily!" Alban exclaimed. "Is _she_ concerned in this?"

There was a change to tenderness in his voice, which persuaded
Mrs. Ellmother that she had found her way to the weak side of
him. Her one effort now was to strengthen the impression which
she believed herself to have produced. "Miss Emily _is_ concerned
in it," she confessed.

"In what way?"

"Never mind in what way."

"But I do mind."

"I tell you, sir, Miss Emily must never know it to her dying
day!"

The first suspicion of the truth crossed Alban's mind.

"I understand you at last," he said. "What Miss Emily must never
know--is what Miss de Sor wanted you to tell her. Oh, it's
useless to contradict me! Her motive in trying to frighten you is
as plain to me now as if she had confessed it. Are you sure you
didn't betray yourself, when she showed the image of wax?"

"I should have died first!" The reply had hardly escaped her
before she regretted it. "What makes you want to be so sure about
it?" she said. "It looks as if you knew--"

"I do know."

"What!"

The kindest thing that he could do now was to speak out. "Your
secret is no secret to _me_," he said.

Rage and fear shook her together. For the moment she was like the
Mrs. Ellmother of former days. "You lie!" she cried.

"I speak the truth."

"I won't believe you! I daren't believe you!"

"Listen to me. In Emily's interests, listen to me. I have read of
the murder at Zeeland--"

"That's nothing! The man was a namesake of her father."

"The man was her father himself. Keep your seat! There is nothing
to be alarmed about. I know that Emily is ignorant of the horrid
death that her father died. I know that you and your late
mistress have kept the discovery from her to this day. I know the
love and pity which plead your excuse for deceiving her, and the
circumstances that favored the deception. My good creature,
Emily's peace of mind is as sacred to me as it is to you! I love
her as I love my own life--and better. Are you calmer, now?"

He heard her crying: it was the best relief that could come to
her. After waiting a while to let the tears have their way, he
helped her to rise. There was no more to be said now. The one
thing to do was to take her back to the house.

"I can give you a word of advice," he said, "before we part for
the night. You must leave Miss de Sor's service at once. Your
health will be a sufficient excuse. Give her warning
immediately."

Mrs. Ellmother hung back, when he offered her his arm. The bare
prospect of seeing Francine again was revolting to her. On
Alban's assurance that the notice to leave could be given in
writing, she made no further resistance. The village clock struck
eleven as they ascended the terrace steps.

A minute later, another person left the grounds by the path which
led to the house. Alban's precaution had been taken too late. The
smell of tobacco-smoke had guided Francine, when she was at a
loss which way to turn next in search of Mrs. Ellmother. For the
last quarter of an hour she had been listening, hidden among the
trees.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CHANGE OF AIR.

The inmates of Netherwoods rose early, and went to bed early.
When Alban and Mrs. Ellmother arrived at the back door of the
house, they found it locked.

The only light visible, along the whole length of the building,
glimmered through the Venetian blind of the window-entrance to
Francine's sitting-room. Alban proposed to get admission to the
house by that way. In her horror of again encountering Francine,
Mrs. Ellmother positively refused to follow him when he turned
away from the door. "They can't be all asleep yet," she said--and
rang the bell.

One person was still out of bed--and that person was the mistress
of the house. They recognized her voice in the customary
question: "Who's there?" The door having been opened, good Miss
Ladd looked backward and forward between Alban and Mrs.
Ellmother, with the bewildered air of a lady who doubted the
evidence of her own eyes. The next moment, her sense of humor
overpowered her. She burst out laughing.

"Close the door, Mr. Morris," she said, "and be so good as to
tell me what this means. Have you been giving a lesson in drawing
by starlight?"

Mrs. Ellmother moved, so that the light of the lamp in Miss
Ladd's hand fell on her face. "I am faint and giddy," she said;
"let me go to my bed."

Miss Ladd instantly followed her. "Pray forgive me! I didn't see
you were ill, when I spoke," she gently explained. "What can I do
for you?"

"Thank you kindly, ma'am. I want nothing but peace and quiet. I
wish you good-night."

Alban followed Miss Ladd to her study, on the front side of the
house. He had just mentioned the circumstances under which he and
Mrs. Ellmother had met, when they were interrupted by a tap at
the door. Francine had got back to her room unperceived, by way
of the French window. She now presented herself, with an
elaborate apology, and with the nearest approach to a penitent
expression of which her face was capable.

"I am ashamed, Miss Ladd, to intrude on you at this time of
night. My only excuse is, that I am anxious about Mrs. Ellmother.
I heard you just now in the hall. If she is really ill, I am the
unfortunate cause of it."

"In what way, Miss de Sor?"

"I am sorry to say I frightened her--while we were talking in my
room--quite unintentionally. She rushed to the door and ran out.
I supposed she had gone to her bedroom; I had no idea she was in
the grounds."

In this false statement there was mingled a grain of truth. It
was true that Francine believed Mrs. Ellmother to have taken
refuge in her room--for she had examined the room. Finding it
empty, and failing to discover the fugitive in other parts of the
house, she had become alarmed, and had tried the grounds
next--with the formidable result which has been already related.
Concealing this circumstance, she had lied in such a skillfully
artless manner that Alban (having no suspicion of what had really
happened to sharpen his wits) was as completely deceived as Miss
Ladd. Proceeding to further explanation--and remembering that she
was in Alban's presence--Francine was careful to keep herself
within the strict limit of truth. Confessing that she had
frightened her servant by a description of sorcery, as it was
practiced among the slaves on her father's estate, she only lied
again, in declaring that Mrs. Ellmother had supposed she was in
earnest, when she was guilty of no more serious offense than
playing a practical joke.

In this case, Alban was necessarily in a position to detect the
falsehood. But it was so evidently in Francine's interests to
present her conduct in the most favorable light, that the
discovery failed to excite his suspicion. He waited in silence,
while Miss Ladd administered a severe reproof. Francine having
left the room, as penitently as she had entered it (with her
handkerchief over her tearless eyes), he was at liberty, with
certain reserves, to return to what had passed between Mrs.
Ellmother and himself.

" The fright which the poor old woman has suffered," he said,
"has led to one good result. I have found her ready at last to
acknowledge that she is ill, and inclined to believe that the
change to Netherwoods has had something to do with it. I have
advised her to take the course which you suggested, by leaving
this house. Is it possible to dispense with the usual delay, when
she gives notice to leave Miss de Sor's service?"

"She need feel no anxiety, poor soul, on that account," Miss Ladd
replied. "In any case, I had arranged that a week's notice on
either side should be enough. As it is, I will speak to Francine
myself. The least she can do, to express her regret, is to place
no difficulties in Mrs. Ellmother's way."

The next day was Sunday.

Miss Ladd broke through her rule of attending to secular affairs
on week days only; and, after consulting with Mrs. Ellmother,
arranged with Francine that her servant should be at liberty to
leave Netherwoods (health permitting) on the next day. But one
difficulty remained. Mrs. Ellmother was in no condition to take
the long journey to her birthplace in Cumberland; and her own
lodgings in London had been let.

Under these circumstances, what was the best arrangement that
could be made for her? Miss Ladd wisely and kindly wrote to Emily
on the subject, and asked for a speedy reply.

Later in the day, Alban was sent for to see Mrs. Ellmother. He
found her anxiously waiting to hear what had passed, on the
previous night, between Miss Ladd and himself. "Were you careful,
sir, to say nothing about Miss Emily?"

"I was especially careful; I never alluded to her in any way."

"Has Miss de Sor spoken to you?"

"I have not given her the opportunity."

"She's an obstinate one--she might try."

"If she does, she shall hear my opinion of her in plain words."
The talk between them turned next on Alban's discovery of the
secret, of which Mrs. Ellmother had believed herself to be the
sole depositary since Miss Letitia's death. Without alarming her
by any needless allusion to Doctor Allday or to Miss Jethro, he
answered her inquiries (so far as he was himself concerned)
without reserve. Her curiosity once satisfied, she showed no
disposition to pursue the topic. She pointed to Miss Ladd's cat,
fast asleep by the side of an empty saucer.

"Is it a sin, Mr. Morris, to wish I was Tom? _He_ doesn't trouble
himself about his life that is past or his life that is to come.
If I could only empty my saucer and go to sleep, I shouldn't be
thinking of the number of people in this world, like myself, who
would be better out of it than in it. Miss Ladd has got me my
liberty tomorrow; and I don't even know where to go, when I leave
this place."

"Suppose you follow Tom's example?" Alban suggested. "Enjoy
to-day (in that comfortable chair) and let to-morrow take care of
itself."

To-morrow arrived, and justified Alban's system of philosophy.
Emily answered Miss Ladd's letter, to excellent purpose, by
telegraph.

"I leave London to-day with Cecilia" (the message announced) "for
Monksmoor Park, Hants. Will Mrs. Ellmother take care of the
cottage in my absence? I shall be away for a month, at least. All
is prepared for her if she consents."

Mrs. Ellmother gladly accepted this proposal. In the interval of
Emily's absence, she could easily arrange to return to her own
lodgings. With words of sincere gratitude she took leave of Miss
Ladd; but no persuasion would induce her to say good-by to
Francine. "Do me one more kindness, ma'am; don't tell Miss de Sor
when I go away." Ignorant of the provocation which had produced
this unforgiving temper of mind, Miss Ladd gently remonstrated.
"Miss de Sor received my reproof in a penitent spirit; she
expresses sincere sorrow for having thoughtlessly frightened you.
Both yesterday and to-day she has made kind inquiries after your
health. Come! come! don't bear malice--wish her good-by." Mrs.
Ellmother's answer was characteristic. "I'll say good-by by
telegraph, when I get to London."

Her last words were addressed to Alban. "If you can find a way of
doing it, sir, keep those two apart."

"Do you mean Emily and Miss de Sor?

"Yes."

"What are you afraid of?"

"I don't know."

"Is that quite reasonable, Mrs. Ellmother?"

"I daresay not. I only know that I _am_ afraid."

The pony chaise took her away. Alban's class was not yet ready
for him. He waited on the terrace.

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