"I have done nothing my conscience
reproaches me with," she said, doggedly.

"Then if you maintain that you are
justified in taking this step," he continued,
"why all this concealment? Why cause
Lady Herriesson so much unnecessary
anxiety?"

"Because it was useless to wound her
pride, and create a disturbance by
announcing my determination of earning my
own bread. I wrote to let her know I
was well and happy, which was more than
I could have done had I been the wife of
Mr. Durborough, as she wished."

"And was it true, Miss Pomeroy? I
doubt it. You look far from well, and I
cannot believe that you are happy in a position,
among a set of people, so utterly unlike
anything you have been used to, and who
regard you with mistrust. Is not this true?
I gather it from what that vulgar woman
said to me just now."

"What did she say? " asked Maud,
quickly, looking up into his face.

"She seemed to be very anxious you
should go."

"I shall not go – I shall not go, if it
depends upon me. I may be driven away,
of course, if you insist on telling my
stepmother where I am; but—"

"Be advised, Miss Pomeroy, and avoid
all the pain and scandal of an explanation
in this house, by quietly leaving at once.
I will see Mrs. Cartaret, and take the odium
of this upon myself."

"And where should I go? For return
to Mortlands I never will."

"As a temporary measure, I propose
that you should take refuge with an old
aunt of mine at Salisbury, who will
receive you as a mother. You can write to
Lady Herriesson from there; you can
discuss your future plans, and nothing need
ever be known of your having been in
service. Believe me, this is the wisest course
now to retrieve the past."

She shook her head. " I do not wish
to retrieve the past as you call it. No,
Mr. Miles, I am grateful to you for all
your interest in me, and I dare say you
are right. Perhaps it would be the wisest
course, but I can't pursue it for all that.
I cannot leave this house unless I am
compelled."

"But this is sheer madness. Why create
an unnecessary scandal? Of course, I
must let your mother know where you are.
If Sir Andrew comes down here, and has
an interview with Mrs. Cartaret, a distressing,
and to you most humiliating, scene
must follow. Why not avoid this while
there is yet time?"

"Because, if you must know the truth,
I have promised. I have given my word
that, for a certain time, nothing should
induce me to leave Mrs. Cartaret of my own
free will."

He looked at her for a moment with a
pained wonderment, and began fiddling
with the pens on the table.

"You mean that you made such a
promise to Mrs. Cartaret? Leave me to
explain –"

"It is not to Mrs. Cartaret I made the
promise."

"To whom, then?" Here he split a pen
in two.

"That you must excuse my saying. It
is enough that, whether rightly or wrongly,
I have made such a promise. I am sure
you are the last person whb would have me
break it."

Poor John felt as if a dagger had been
driven into him, somewhere near his heart.
To whom could the girl have made such a
promise? To whom but to the man Mrs.
Rouse had alluded to, and whose name
Miles had heard, as common gossip at the
railway station, coupled with Maud's?
The station-master's words and the
housekeeper's yet coarser insinuations, like horrid
phantoms, which no force of reason will
dismiss, had haunted him ever since, and
now they rose up stronger and blacker,
allying themselves to Maud's vague avowal
in his distressing perplexity. He wiped
the cold perspiration from his brow, as he
stood there, leaning one clumsy hand on
the green-baize cloth of the table in the
centre of the room, shuffling about with
his feet, and looking into her face with such
piteous anxiety as must have touched her,
but that her eyes were turned towards the
window. Throughout the interview,
indeed, it was notable how Maud, unlike her
old, fearless self, seemed to avoid meeting
Miles's gaze. Once or twice she turned
suddenly towards him, and their eyes
flashed, as it were: otherwise she kept hers
doggedly fixed upon the laurels outside the
window. She sat, with her arms folded,
and never changed her position. Miles
stood during the whole interview.

"Miss Pomeroy," he said, in a husky
voice, at last, " does the person to whom
you made such a promise know the truth?
Is it possible that he, or she, should hold
you to it, if the simple facts of your false
position here are made known? No one
with a grain of right feeling could wish