her on the bed, when morning brought the faithful attendant to the room, and Laura was lying near the wall, and with her hands tightly clasped over her eyes, as if to shut out some horrible image. Yet she had slept, thanks to the overmastering excitement of the past day, and she woke, pale as ashes and distressingly prostrated, but in full possession of self-consciousness.
In a few minutes, however, she sprang up, hastened to the drawer where she had placed the volume of letters so strangely obtained, and hurried from the chamber, which she would not enter again.
A small room on the lower floor was hastily arranged for her, and here she awaited the arrived of Charles Hawkesley.
Laura spoke not, and Henderson attended her with silent assiduity, placed before her food which the girl had to remove untasted, and performed such few offices of the toilette as Laura would bear.
“Stay in the room,” were almost the only words that Mrs. Lygon uttered, and they were said in a tone of entreaty, all unlike her usual calm voice of gentle command. The girl stood and watched her, and counted the minutes until Hawkesley came.
Then, relieved from her guard, Henderson fled from the room and from the house. For her own inferior class of courage had fairly broken down, and she dreaded to be near Mrs. Lygon when the discovery of the truth should be made. Yet, true to her self-imposed duty, she lingered near the door, and expected to see Mr. Hawkesley rush out and hastily summon her to the aid of her mistress.
No such hasty summons came.
More than an hour passed from the time at which Hawkesley had entered the room. Then, Laura herself appeared at the door of the house, beckoned Henderson in, gave her orders to come on to Paris to an address in the writing of Mr. Hawkesley, and soon afterwards left the house with her brother-in-law.
The girl watched them as they went away, and observed that Laura kept her eyes upon the ground. This of course Henderson did not understand.
Nor did Charles Hawkesley. For, informed by Aventayle that the truth had not been told to Laura, Hawkesley had resolved to continue to withhold it until Mrs. Lygon had been removed from Versailles. It was his intention to conduct her to Paris, and then, if she would be guided by him, to escort her to England. But, in the meantime, he had the last duties to perform to him who had died in the house at Versailles.
They reached Paris, and on the way Charles Hawkesley explained to Laura that he wished her to remain there for two days, after which he proposed to take her to England. In the meantime he would place her in a lodging where she would be entirely freed from intrusion by friend or enemy.
“Have I an enemy?” said Laura, in a low voice.
He understood her, but made no direct reply. She gave a silent assent to the arrangement he proposed, and he drove with her to the lodging he had decided on, gave all directions for her comfort, and a special and private order that on no account should either French or English journals be brought to her. Then he took an affectionate leave of her, promising an early return, and left her, thoughtfully sending in a few books in the hope that Laura might avail herself of the poor yet not altogether unavailing distraction which any attempt at diversion of the current of the mind from its course of sorrow will sometimes bring to the weary.
But he might have spared this care. In another hour Laura was on the road to England.
CHAPTER LXXXIV.
Charles Hawkesley hastened to the bureau of M. , and, early as it was, he found that official in attendance.
“I suppose that I have nothing to tell you,” said Hawkesley.
“Nothing,” replied M. , with a manifestation of sincere sorrow—with a regret that was not a mere manifestation. “The past is past, and nothing so sad has chanced within my memory. I will not afflict you with my sympathy, Mr. Hawkesley, but be assured that I, too, have a right to be afflicted at the death of a brave, good man. I honoured him much, and when the time comes I may be able to prove to you that I have not used mere words of custom in saying this. It is more to the purpose that I should speak of the future.”
“The necessary formalities—”
“Must be strictly observed, of course, but shall be performed with every delicacy and rapidity. You will desire to charge yourself with the details of the funeral. I will send to you a person who will make this duty as light as possible—who will carry out all your directions with perfect intelligence.”
“I thank you, M. . And, now, has the murderer been arrested?”
“I am to conclude that you fix the deed upon one person only?”
“Have we not ample proof?”
“Of that we shall have to speak hereafter. But, be this as it may, the man Adair will be seized in due course. Up to within the last hour, he had not been captured.”
“Surely it is impossible that he should escape?”
“I have seen such escapes that I have resolved to call nothing impossible to a clear-headed and resolute man, but I cannot doubt that we shall secure him, if it is desired.”
“If it is desired!” echoed Hawkesley, astounded.
“I have, I see, given you a new thought, Mr. Hawkesley,” said M. . “Do not reject it, however, merely because it has surprised you.”
“Surprised is no word for what you cause in my mind.”
“Listen, nevertheless, and once more let me beg you to believe in my assurance that I am profoundly grieved at what has chanced.”
“You have used that word twice.”
“It was accidentally, then, but we need not pause upon that. Mr. Hawkesley, I believe that if I resolve to capture this man Adair, I shall