“Listen, miss--listen! The dreadful part of it is to come; you haven’t heard about the two gentlemen yet. One of them was murdered--what do you think of that!--and the other (I heard your aunt say it, in so many words) committed the crime. Did Miss Letitia fancy she was addressing a lot of people when _you_ were nursing her? She called out, like a person making public proclamation, when I was in her room. ‘Whoever you are, good people’ (she says), ‘a hundred pounds reward, if you find the runaway murderer. Search everywhere for a poor weak womanish creature, with rings on his little white hands. There’s nothing about him like a man, except his voice--a fine round voice. You’ll know him, my friends--the wretch, the monster--you’ll know him by his voice.’ That was how she put it; I tell you again, that was how she put it. Did you hear her scream? Ah, my dear young lady, so much the better for you! ‘O the horrid murder’ (she says)--‘hush it up!’ I’ll take my Bible oath before the magistrate,” cried Mrs. Mosey, starting out of her chair, “your aunt said, ‘Hush it up!’” Emily crossed the room. The energy of her character was roused at last. She seized the foolish woman by the shoulders, forced her back in the chair, and looked her straight in the face without uttering a word. For the moment, Mrs. Mosey was petrified. She had fully expected--having reached the end of her terrible story--to find Emily at her feet, entreating her not to carry out her intention of leaving the cottage the next morning; and she had determined, after her sense of her own importance had been sufficiently flattered, to grant the prayer of the helpless young lady. Those were her anticipations--and how had they been fulfilled? She had been treated like a mad woman in a state of revolt! “How dare you assault me?” she asked piteously. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself. God knows I meant well.” “You are not the first person,” Emily answered, quietly releasing her, “who has done wrong with the best intentions.” “I did my duty, miss, when I told you what your aunt said.” “You forgot your duty when you listened to what my aunt said.” “Allow me to explain myself.” “No: not a word more on _that_ subject shall pass between us. Remain here, if you please; I have something to suggest in your own interests. Wait, and compose yourself.” The purpose which had taken a foremost place in Emily’s mind rested on the firm foundation of her love and pity for her aunt. Now that she had regained the power to think, she felt a hateful doubt pressed on her by Mrs. Mosey’s disclosures. Having taken for granted that there was a foundation in truth for what she herself had heard in her aunt’s room, could she reasonably resist the conclusion that there must be a foundation in truth for what Mrs. Mosey had heard, under similar circumstances?