morning will do. Let it be sent the first thing, Bowler.”
So the man left him for the night, double-locking and barring the door, after civilly wishing him good rest: which, under the circumstances, might perhaps be regarded as a superfluous compliment. It was this same attentive official—and the man really did wish to be attentive to Mr. Carlton, and to soothe his incarceration by any means not strictly illegitimate—who was the first to enter the cell in the morning. He was coming with an offer of early coffee; but the prisoner seemed to be in a fast sleep.
“No cause to wake him up just yet,” thought Bowler; “he can have another hour of it. Perhaps he haven’t long got to sleep.”
He was silently stealing out of the cell again when he remembered the letter for Lady Laura which Mr. Carlton had wished delivered early. The man turned, took it from the table, where it still lay, and carried it to an officer, older and more responsible than himself.
“I suppose I may go with it?” said he, showing the letter. “Mr. Carlton said he wanted it took the first thing in the morning. He ain’t awake yet.”
The older one laid hold of the letter, and turned it over and over. Every little matter connected with such a prisoner as Mr. Carlton bore an interest even for these policemen. The envelope was securely fastened down with its gum. If a thought crossed the officer that he should like to unfasten it, and see what was written there,—if an idea arose that it might be in his duty to examine any letter of the prisoner’s before sending it out, he did not act upon it.
“You may take it at once,” he said.
But policemen, however favourably they may be disposed to prisoners under their charge, are very rarely inclined to forego the comfort of their own meals, where there’s a possibility of getting them; and Bowler thought he might just as well eat his roll and drink his coffee before he started, as not. This accomplished over the stove of the lock-up, he went out of that unpopular building, asking a question as he went.
“Am I to wait and bring back any answer?”
“Yes, if there is one. You can inquire.”
Mr. Bowler went down the street, stoically self-possessed to appearance, but full of importance inwardly at being the porter of the letter which was hidden from the gaze of public curiosity in a safe pocket. It was a regular winter’s morning, a little frosty, the sky dull and cloudy, with a patch of blue here and there. South Wennock street was already alive with early bustle: every soul in the place had resolved to obtain a footing inside the town hall that day, however unsuccessful they might have been the previous one; and they probably thought that the earlier they got up, the more chance there was of their accomplishing it.
Mr. Bowler went through Mr. Carlton’s gate and gave two knocks and a ring at his front door, after the manner of the London postmen. The servant who answered it was Jonathan.
“Can I see Lady Laura Carlton?”
“No,” said Jonathan, and shook his head. With so uncompromising a denial, Mr. Bowler did not see his way quite clear to get to her ladyship and to gratify his own self-importance by answering any questions she might put to him. “Could this be give to her at once then?” said he; “and say if there’s any answer I shall be happy to take it back to Mr. Carlton.”
“My lady’s not here,” said the man. “She’s at Cedar Lodge. She went there yesterday evening with Lady Jane.”
Mr. Bowler stood a moment while he digested the news. He then returned the letter to its hiding-place, preparatory to proceeding to Cedar Lodge. Jonathan arrested him as he was turning away.
“I say, Mr. Bowler, will it turn bad again master, do you think?” he asked, with an anxious face. “If you don’t mind saying?”
Mr. Bowler condescendingly replied that it might or it mightn’t: these charges was always ticklish, though folks did sometimes come out of them triumphant.
With that, he resumed his march to Cedar Lodge, where Lady Laura was. He told his business to Judith, and was admitted to the presence of her mistress. Jane was in the breakfast-room, doing what Mr. Bowler had recently done—drinking a cup of coffee. She had not been in bed, for Laura had remained in a state of excitement all night; now bewailing her husband and reproaching herself as the cause of all this misery; now casting hard words to him for his treachery in the days gone by. There was one advantage in this excitement: that it would spend itself the sooner. Passion with Laura, of whatever nature, was hot and uncontrollable while it lasted, but it never lasted very long.
Calm, gentle, pale, her manner subdued even more than usual with the dark distress that was upon them, what a contrast Jane presented to her impulsive sister! As Mr. Bowler spoke to her, he seemed to have entered into a calmer world. Half that night had been passed, by Jane, with One who can give tranquillity in the darkest moments.
“Mr. Carlton desired that it should be sent to Lady Laura the first thing this morning, my