A
light which was not of this world--a light shining prophetically from
an unmade grave--dawned on my mind. My aunt's secret was a secret no
longer.
CHAPTER III
Consideration for poor Lady Verinder forbade me even to hint that I had
guessed the melancholy truth, before she opened her lips. I waited
her pleasure in silence; and, having privately arranged to say a few
sustaining words at the first convenient opportunity, felt prepared for
any duty that could claim me, no matter how painful it might be.
"I have been seriously ill, Drusilla, for some time past," my aunt
began. "And, strange to say, without knowing it myself."
I thought of the thousands and thousands of perishing human creatures
who were all at that moment spiritually ill, without knowing it
themselves. And I greatly feared that my poor aunt might be one of the
number. "Yes, dear," I said, sadly. "Yes."
"I brought Rachel to London, as you know, for medical advice," she went
on. "I thought it right to consult two doctors."
Two doctors! And, oh me (in Rachel's state), not one clergyman! "Yes,
dear?" I said once more. "Yes?"
"One of the two medical men," proceeded my aunt, "was a stranger to me.
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