Then, after giving her an interval of a
minute or two to collect what little strength she had left, he
added that he would not increase her sufferings by saying
anything more, just then, on the shocking subject of the
investigation which it was his duty to make--that he would leave
her to recover herself, and to consider what was the best course
to be taken with the baroness in the present terrible
emergency--and that he would privately return to the house
between eight and nine o'clock that evening, ready to act as Miss
Welwyn wished, and to afford her and her sister any aid and
protection of which they might stand in need. With these words he
bowed, and noiselessly quitted the room.
For the first few awful minutes after she was left alone, Miss
Welwyn sat helpless and speechless; utterly numbed in heart, and
mind, and body--then a sort of instinct (she was incapable of
thinking) seemed to urge her to conceal the fearful news from her
sister as long as possible. She ran upstairs to Rosamond's
sitting-room, and called through the door (for she dared not
trust herself in her sister's presence) that the visitor had come
on some troublesome business from their
late father's lawyers, and that she was going to shut herself
up, and write some long letters in connection with that business.
After she had got into her own room, she was never sensible of
how time was passing--never conscious of any feeling within her,
except a baseless, helpless hope that the French police might yet
be proved to have made some terrible mistake--until she heard a
violent shower of rain come on a little after sunset.
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