"Ah! It strikes me he is on her mind too much. I wish, Ella, you would put a few questions to her about the Squire, and let me be present." "Not questions to alarm her, I suppose?" "My dear, if she knows of nothing wrong in connection with that time, how could they alarm her?" "True. I will ask her to-morrow morning. She shall come in to take my orders instead of my going to her." The next morning, Dorothy, full of her cares for dinner, for she was still the housekeeper, and bustling enough in the early part of the day, was summoned to Miss Winter's presence. Mr. Conroy had come to the Hall betimes that day, and sat at the back of the room reading a newspaper. Ella quietly gave her orders; and Dorothy received them intelligently as usual. In her own department as housekeeper, the woman was capable yet. "Is that all, Miss Ella?" she asked. "All for the present. I think of having a few friends to dinner soon; Mr. Philip Cleeve and his wife, and the Vicar; and Lady Cleeve, if she is able to come. Just half-a-dozen or so, besides ourselves--but I will talk to you of that to-morrow." "Yes, ma'am," assented Dorothy, about to move away. "Wait a moment," said her mistress. "I wish to ask you a question or two, Dorothy, about that Mrs. Dexter: the woman who nursed my uncle, as I hear, during his last illness. I wish to see Mrs. Dexter. Can you tell me where to find her?" Dorothy's hands began to tremble as though she had been suddenly smitten with ague. She threw a look at her mistress so frightened and imploring, that the latter almost regretted she had spoken, and then she glanced beyond her at Mr. Conroy: but he seemed to see nothing but his newspaper. "Do you know where I could find Mrs. Dexter?" repeated Miss Winter. "I don't know anything about Mrs. Dexter, ma'am," Dorothy whispered forth in a twittering voice. "Nor do I ever wish to know." "You did not like her, then, Dorothy?" "I did not like her, ma'am." Miss Winter rose. "Sit down, Dorothy," she said kindly; "you need not be put out. There, sit in that chair. And now tell me why you did not like Mrs. Dexter." The trembling woman wiped her lips. "I can't tell why, ma'am. I didn't, and that's all I know. When she first come here with Dr. Jago, I was finely put out; hurt, if one may put it so. My nursing had been good enough for my master up to then, and I thought it might have been good enough still. I told the Doctor my mind." "Dorothy," continued Miss Winter, after a pause of thought, "I have never questioned you about my uncle's death. The subject was a painful one, and I was more deeply grieved than I can express that I was not allowed to be here at the time. Did you see him up to the day of his death?" "No," gasped Dorothy. "When did you see him last? How long before he died?" Again that same imploring look: but no answer. "You must tell me, Dorothy." "Not for weeks and weeks, ma'am," spoke the woman then, but with evident reluctance.