repeated his request for some rag, brought the boy in, and proceeded to attend to his knee. He scanned the child’s features from time to time, but could detect nothing of the resemblance spoken of by his wife. He completely made his peace with Mrs. Smith before he departed, told her laughingly always to have linen at hand ready for him, and then he should not want to look into her hiding-places.
It was not however quite the truth that Mrs. Smith had run all the way back. In point of fact she had not come straight back, but had taken a short détour out of her way. She ran there, received the ointment without delay, and set off to run back again. But ladies of middle age (to put it politely) don’t run very far up a hill, be it ever so gentle a one, and Mrs. Smith slackened her pace. Just before she got to Blister Lane she overtook Judith, Lady Jane’s maid, and joined her, walking with her past the lane, for Judith was in a hurrry and could not stop to talk. Mrs. Smith reminded her of her promise to come and partake of tea; but Judith said she could not for a day or two: she was busy, getting her lady’s autumn dresses in order.
“It’s not autumn weather yet,” remarked Mrs. Smith. “It’s as hot as summer.”
“But nobody knows how soon it may change, and my lady likes to have her things in readiness,” was Judith’s answer. “I’ll be sure to come as soon as I can. I shall like to come. How’s the little boy?”
“He’s middling. I have had Mr. Carlton to him. He is at the cottage now; I have been to his house for this salve which he left behind him. I say, he’s a curious man, isn’t he?”
“Curious?” repeated Judith, not understanding how to take the remark.
“Curious in regard to one’s business. He asked enough questions of me; wanting to know where we came from, and where we had lived, and where the boy was born; I don’t know what he didn’t ask. But I think he is clever; he seems thoroughly to understand the case. And he’s very kind.”
“He is thought to be very clever,” said Judith. “His patients like him.”
Lady Jane’s gate was reached; it was only a little higher than Blister Lane, on the opposite side of the way, and Mrs. Smith said “Good afternoon” and ran back again. Lady Jane had seen the woman at the gate and spoke of her to Judith.
The likeness Jane had detected in the little child to her sister Clarice had been haunting her mind since the previous day, more than she would have cared to tell.
“So you know that person, Judith?”
“I don’t know much of her, my lady. I have spoken to her once or twice in passing the cottage. She was talking of her little boy. She has had Mr. Carlton to him.”
“Is that her own child?” abruptly asked Lady Jane, after a pause. “She told me it was, but I almost doubt it. For one thing, she seems too old to have so young a child.”
“Well, my lady, and so do I doubt it,” cried Judith; “but I don’t know anything certain.”
“The boy bears so remarkable a likeness to—to—some one I know—"
“My lady, there never was such a likeness seen,” eagerly interposed Judith. “It struck me the first moment I saw him.”
“You!” rejoined Lady Jane; “struck you! Why, how did you know her? When did you see her? I spoke of my sister.”
Judith stood dumb.
“I’m sure I beg your pardon, my lady; I misunderstood.”
“I had another sister, of whom you have not heard, Judith. That little boy’s eyes are so exactly like hers that they seem to be ever before me. What likeness did you speak of?”
“Oh, my lady, it’s not worth troubling you with. It was just a fancy of mine that the boy was like somebody’s face I know: not a lady’s.”
“Not a lady’s?”
“It was a man’s face; not a lady’s.”
“Ah, yes. Of course you could not have known my sister. She never was at South Wennock.”
Judith lingered as if she had something on her tongue, and looked hard at Lady Jane; but she turned away without speaking. She wondered never to have heard that there was another sister; but the Chesneys, one and all, had kept the name from their households. In fact, considering the semi-publicity that had been given to the affair when it was entrusted to the police, it had been kept wonderfully secret. But the likeness the child bore to Clarice continued to trouble the mind of Lady Jane. And the likeness—that other likeness—festered in the heart of Mr. Carlton’s wife. In spite of her apparent satisfaction at the time of the explanation, the bitter suspicion sprung up again within her with a force that threatened mischief. There is no passion in this wide world so difficult to eradicate as jealousy.
CHAPTER XLIV.AN ITEM OF NEWS.
