"That was strange, was it not? considering that you were always so great a favourite with Uncle Gilbert." Dorothy lifted the corner of her clean white linen apron, and wiped her face with trembling fingers. She seemed to gather a little courage. "When he had that Mrs. Dexter, ma'am, he didn't want me, I take it. She was the nurse, and she didn't let anybody go near the master." "She kept him shut up behind the green baize doors, and would not let him be seen by anyone: that is what you mean?" "That was just it, ma'am," assented Dorothy, more eagerly. "But they let you see him after he was dead--you who had been his faithful servant for so many years? Surely they let you look for the last time on that dear face so soon to be hidden for ever?" "Not even then did they let me see him," she cried. "No, ma'am, not even then. It was cruel--cruel." "Cruel indeed. I did not think Aaron could have been so unkind to you. He had one of the keys of the green doors, and could have let you through at any time." Dorothy sighed, and let fall her apron. All this was beginning to frighten her. Miss Winter advanced and stood in front of her. "There was nothing going on behind those green baize doors, was there, Dorothy?" she asked in expressive tones, her eyes gazing straight into the woman's; "nothing that they wanted to keep from you and from everyone?" Dorothy flung up her arms with a sudden gesture of dismay. "Oh, mistress, ask me no more for heaven's sake!" she cried. "I know nothing; I have nothing to tell." "_Nothing?_" repeated Miss Winter. "No, ma'am, nothing." And the poor shaking woman looked so distressed as she crept to the door, that Miss Winter let her escape. "Ella," cried her lover quietly, rising from behind his newspaper, "it is from that woman we must get the clue. She knows more than she dares to tell. I am right; it is this trouble that is preying upon her mind." "Certainly her manner is suggestive," assented Ella. "But look at her distress: how shall we get anything more from her?" "That is just the point we have to consider," said Conroy. "Of one thing I am persuaded--that she would never tell me what is not true." "Under ordinary circumstances, no; I believe that. But she may be forced into it by Aaron and the rest of the conspirators." "Oh, Edward! Conspirators! Poor old Aaron!" "Well, my dear, time will show. If that old man has not a weighty secret on his back, tell me that my name is not Conroy." For a few days, after this, things went on at the Hall in their usual state of quiet monotony: perhaps we might say _dis_-quiet, could the minds of some of its inmates have been read. Old Dorothy went about her duties in a dazed manner: but nothing more was said to her. Gradually, finding herself let alone, the scare, which seemed to have taken up its abode permanently on her face, began to leave it.