Chapter 11

THE VISION RECURS

I hated asking auntie questions, they seemed to worry and distress
her so; but that evening, in view of my projected visit to Torquay,
I was obliged to cross-examine her rather closely about many things.
I wanted to know about my Torquay relations, and as far as possible
about my mother's family. In the end I learned that the Willie
Moores were cousins of ours on my mother's side who had never
quarrelled with my father, like Aunt Emma, and through whom alone
accordingly, in the days of my First State, Aunt Emma was able to
learn anything about me. They had a house at Torquay, and
connections all around; for the Moores were Devonshire people. Aunt
Emma was very anxious, if I went down there at all, I should stop
with Mrs. Moore: for Minnie would be so grieved, she said, if I went
to an hotel or took private lodgings. But I wouldn't hear of that
myself. I knew nothing of the Moores--in my present condition--and I
didn't like to trust myself in the hands of those who to me were
perfect strangers. So I decided on going to the Imperial Hotel, and
calling on the Moores quietly to pursue my investigation.

Another question I asked in the course of the evening. I had
wondered about it often, and now, in these last straits, curiosity
overcame me.

"Aunt Emma," I said unexpectedly after a pause, without one word of
introduction, "how ever did you get those scars on your hand? You've
never told me."

In a moment, Aunt Emma blushed suddenly crimson like a girl of
eighteen.

"Una," she answered very gravely, in a low strange tone, "oh, don't
ask me about that, dear. Don't ask me about that. You could never
understand it.... I got them... in climbing over a high stone
wall... a high stone wall, with bits of glass stuck on top of it."

In spite of her prohibition, I couldn't help asking one virtual
question more. I gave a start of horror:

"Not the wall at The Grange!" I cried. "Oh, Aunt Emma, how
wonderful!"

She gazed at me, astonished.

"Yes, the wall at The Grange," she said simply. "But I don't know
how you guessed it.... Oh, Una, don't talk to me any more about
these things, I implore you. You can't think how they grieve me.
They distress me unspeakably."

Much as I longed to know, I couldn't ask her again after that. She
was trembling like an aspen-leaf. For some minutes we sat and
looked at the fireplace in silence.

Then curiosity overcame me again.

"Only one question more, auntie," I said. "When I came to you first,
you were at home here at Barton. You didn't come to Woodbury to
fetch me after the murder. You didn't attend