"My uncle’s book!" The words came in a tone of low horror.
"Yes, Miss Leavenworth. It has been thought best to bring it before the world, and"
"And Mary has set you at the task?"
"Yes."
It seemed as if she could not escape from the horror which this caused. "How could she? Oh, how could she!"
"She considers herself as fulfilling her uncle’s wishes. He was very anxious, as you know, to have the book out by July."
"Do not speak of it!" she broke in, "I cannot bear it." Then, as if she feared she had hurt my feelings by her abruptness, lowered her voice and said: "I do not, however, know of any one I should be better pleased to have charged with the task than yourself. With you it will be a work of respect and reverence; but a stranger— Oh, I could not have endured a stranger touching it."
She was fast falling into her old horror; but rousing herself, murmured: "I wanted to ask you something; ah, I know"—and she moved so as to face me. "I wish to inquire if everything is as before in the house; the servants the same and—and other things?"
"There is a Mrs. Darrell there; I do not know of any other change."
"Mary does not talk of going away?"
"I think not."
"But she has visitors? Some one besides Mrs. Darrell to help her bear her loneliness?"
I knew what was coming, and strove to preserve my composure.
"Yes," I replied; "a few."
