opened the door of the bed-chamber and entered it, shading the light with his hand. The chamber was quite still, and he believed Mrs. Crane to be alone. In point of fact, however, Judith was sitting at the extreme end of it, behind the bed-curtains, drawn round that side of the bed, and at the foot. Quiet as his movements were, they awoke Mrs. Crane, who had fallen into a doze, and she looked round with a start, and raised her head—awe are all apt to do when suddenly awakened, especially in illness.
Mr. Carlton put down the light, approached the bed, and addressed her. But ere he had said many words or she had scarcely responded, a sound, as of a rustling movement on the other side of the bed, caught his ear.
“What is that?” he abruptly called out.
“What is what?” repeated the invalid, whose ears had not been so quick as his own.
Mr. Carlton stepped round the bed. “Is any one here?” he asked.
There appeared to he no one, for the question elicited neither sound not answer. Sufficient light came from the candle to enable him to discern a second door on that side. He drew it open: it was pushed to, but not latched, and the moonlight streamed full upon the lending from the staircaise window. But Mr. Carlton could neither see nor hear any one, and he came to the conclusion that he had been mistaken.
“I thought I heard some one in the room,” he said, in a tone of apology, as he returned to the chamber.
“Indeed there is no one here,” said the sick lady. “The nurse went down to her supper. It must have been in the next house: we hear the noises there nearly as plainly as though they were in this.”
“That was it, then,” said Mr. Carlton.
You will be at no loss, however, to understand that the noise had been caused by Judith. Finding it was Mr. Calton who had entered, and not deeming it right to make a third at an interview between a doctor and his patient, she had hastened to escape through the half-opened door, near to which she was sitting. Her slippers were entirely of list—for Judith Ford had been furnished with all the requisites for a sick-mom in her last place—and the stairs were carpeted, and she ran swiftly and silently down them, unconscious of the commotion she had so innocently caused. Mrs. Crane had not known she was there; in fact, it was but a minute or two previously that Judith had entered. She, Judith, made her way to the kitchen, where Mrs. Gould and the nurse were in the full enjoyment of cold boiled bacon and pickled onions, by the light of a fresh candle.
“Where on earth did you spring from?” exclaimed the widow.
“From upstairs,” replied Judith.
“I never heard you come in. I thought you were keeping house next door, while your sister had her Sunday evening out.”
“So I was, but Margaret has come home now, and I just stepped in to see if I could do anything. I saw you two were at supper as I passed the window, and didn’t disturb you. Mrs. Crane was asleep, however, when I got upstairs, and Mr. Carlton has come in now.”
“I say, Judith,” cried the widow eagerly, “did Mr. Carlton say anything to you about the accident?”
“Mr. Carlton did not say anything to me at all. He did not see me. As soon as I knew who had come in, I stole away quietly. What accident?”
“There has been a shocking accident tonight to him and his carriage. They were talking about it in the bar, at the Cross-Keys, when I went for our supper beer.”
“An accident to Mr. Carlton?”
Mrs. Gould nodded. She had just taken a large onion in her mouth, and could not make it convenient to speak immediately.
“It happened as he was coming from Great Wennock, where his servant had took his carriage to meet him at the train,” she presently resumed. “The carriage was overturned and smashed to pieces, and his horse and servant were both killed.”
'“How dreadful!” involuntarily spoke Judith.
“I was just telling Mrs. Pepperfly of it, when the ring came to the door, and I assure you, Judy, when I opened it and saw Mr. Carlton hisself standing there, it did give me a turn. Me and Mrs. Pepperfly had been wondering whether he wasn’t killed too—for nobody seemed to know how it was with him at the Cross-Keys—and there stood he! I couldn’t make bold to ask questions, for he has the character of being one of them proud men that won’t brook none. At any rate he’s not dead. I say, Mrs. Pepperfly, don’t you think you ought to go upstairs while he’s there?”
Mrs. Pepperfly, fond of her supper at least in equal degree with the widow, resented the suggestion, and held up her plate, in a defiant spirit, for some more bacon.
“If he wants me he can ring for me,” was her answer, curtly delivered. “How is your face to-night, Judith?”
“Well,it has been very painful all the evening. I think I shall go home and get to bed,” continued Judith. “It may become easier there.”
She did not linger, but bade them good-