Lady Bassett's anxiety deepened; strange fears came over her. She put
subtle questions to the doctor; he returned obscure answers, and went
on prescribing medicines that had no effect.
She looked wistfully into Mary Wells's face, and there she saw her own
thoughts reflected.
"Mary," said she, one day, in a low voice, "what do they say in the
kitchen?"
"Some say one thing, some another. What can they say? They never see
him, and never shall while I am here."
This reminded Lady Bassett that Mary's time was up. The idea of a
stranger taking her place, and seeing Sir Charles in his present
condition, was horrible to her. "Oh, Mary," said she, piteously,
"surely you will not leave me just now?"
"Do you wish me to stay, my lady?"
"Can you ask it? How can I hope to find such devotion as yours, such
fidelity, and, above all, such secrecy? Ah, Mary, I am the most unhappy
lady in all England this day."
Then she began to cry bitterly, and Mary Wells cried with her, and said
she would stay as long as she could; "but," said she, "I gave you good
advice, my lady, and so you will find."
Lady Bassett made no answer whatever, and that disappointed Mary, for
she wanted a discussion.
The days rolled on, and brought no change for the better. Sir Charles
continued to brood on his one misfortune.
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