"Your wife," reiterated Mrs. Lecount.
At the repetition of those two words the strain on his faculties
relaxed. A thought dawned on him for the first time. His eyes fixed on
her with a furtive alarm, and he drew back hastily. "Mad!" he said to
himself, with a sudden remembrance of what his friend Mr. Bygrave had
told him at Aldborough, sharpened by his own sense of the haggard change
that he saw in her face.
He spoke in a whisper, but Mrs. Lecount heard him. She was close at his
side again in an instant. For the first time, her self-possession failed
her, and she caught him angrily by the arm.
"Will you put my madness to the proof, sir?" she asked.
He shook off her hold; he began to gather courage again, in the intense
sincerity of his disbelief, courage to face the assertion which she
persisted in forcing on him.
"Yes," he answered. "What must I do?"
"Do what I told you," said Mrs. Lecount. "Ask the maid that question
about her mistress on the spot. And if she tells you the mark is there,
do one thing more. Take me up into your wife's room, and open her
wardrobe in my presence with your own hands."
"What do you want with her wardrobe?" he asked.
Pages:
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902