Dorcas's large eyes rested upon her with a grave enquiry, and then Miss Brandon looked down in silence for a while on the carpet, and was thinking a little sternly, maybe, and with a look of pain, still holding Rachel's hand, she said, with a sad sort of reproach in her tone, 'Rachel, dear, you have not told my secret?' 'No, indeed, Dorcas--never, and never will; and I think, though I have learned to fear death, I would rather die than let Stanley even suspect it.' She spoke with a sudden energy, which partook of fear and passion, and flushed her thin cheek, and made her languid eyes flash. 'Thank you, Rachel, my Cousin Rachel, my only friend. I ought not to have doubted you,' and she kissed her again. 'Chelford had a note from Mr. Wylder this morning--another note--his coming delayed, and something of his having to see some person who is abroad,' continued Dorcas, after a little pause. 'You have heard, of course, of Mr. Wylder's absence?' 'Yes, something--_everything_,' said Rachel, hurriedly, looking frowningly at a flower which she was twirling in her fingers. 'He chose an unlucky moment for his departure. I meant to speak to him and end all between us; and I would now write, but there is no address to his letters. I think Lady Chelford and her son begin to think there is more in this oddly-timed journey of Mr. Wylder's than first appeared. When I came into the parlour this morning I knew they were speaking of it. If he does not return in a day or two, Chelford, I am sure, will speak to me, and then I shall tell him my resolution.' 'Yes,' said Rachel. 'I don't understand his absence. I think _they_ are puzzled, too. Can you conjecture why he is gone?' Rachel made no answer, but rose with a dreamy look, as if gazing at some distant object among the dark masses of forest trees, and stood before the window so looking across the tiny garden. 'I don't think, Rachel dear, you heard me?' said Dorcas. 'Can I conjecture why he is gone?' murmured Rachel, still gazing with a wild kind of apathy into distance. 'Can I? What can it now be to you or me--why? Yes, we sometimes conjecture right, and sometimes wrong; there are many things best not conjectured about at all--some interesting, some abominable, some that pass all comprehension: I never mean to conjecture, if I can help it, again.' And the wan oracle having spoken, she sate down in the same sort of abstraction again beside Dorcas, and she looked full in her cousin's eyes. 'I made you a voluntary promise, Dorcas, and now you will make me one. Of Mark Wylder I say this: his name has been for years hateful to me, and recently it has become frightful; and you will promise me simply this, that you will never ask me to speak again about him. Be he near, or be he far, I regard his very name with horror.' Dorcas returned her gaze with one of haughty amazement; and Rachel said, 'Well, Dorcas, you promise?' 'You speak truly, Rachel, you _have_ a right to my promise: I give it.'