Chapter 14 - Page 2

'I don't know, sir,' said she.

'What--and are your stipulations about secrecy and separate living
still in force?'

'They will always be,' she replied decisively. 'Mr. Hayward and I
agreed on the point, and we have not the slightest wish to change the
arrangement.'

'H'm. Then 'tis Miss Tucker to the world; Mrs. Hayward to me and one
or two others only?'

Margery nodded. Then she nerved herself by an effort, and, though
blushing painfully, asked, 'May I put one question, sir? Is the
Baron dead?'

'He is dead to you and to all of us. Why should you ask?'

'Because, if he's alive, I am sorry I married James Hayward. If he
is dead I do not much mind my marriage.'

'I repeat, he is dead to you,' said the lawyer emphatically. 'I'll
tell you all I know. My professional services for him ended with his
departure from this country; but I think I should have heard from him
if he had been alive still. I have not heard at all: and this,
taken in connection with the nature of his illness, leaves no doubt
in my mind that he is dead.'

Margery sighed, and thanking the lawyer she left him with a tear for
the Baron in her eye. After this incident she became more restful;
and the time drew on for her periodical visit to her grandmother.

A few days subsequent to her arrival her aged relative asked her to
go with a message to the gardener at Mount Lodge (who still lived on
there, keeping the grounds in order for the landlord). Margery hated
that direction now, but she went. The Lodge, which she saw over the
trees, was to her like a skull from which the warm and living flesh
had vanished. It was twilight by the time she reached the cottage at
the bottom of the Lodge garden, and, the room being illuminated
within, she saw through the window a woman she had never seen before.
She was dark, and rather handsome, and when Margery knocked she
opened the door. It was the gardener's widowed daughter, who had
been advised to make friends with Margery.

She now found her opportunity. Margery's errand was soon completed,
the young widow, to her surprise, treating her with preternatural
respect, and afterwards offering to accompany her home. Margery was
not sorry to have a companion in the gloom, and they walked on
together. The widow, Mrs. Peach, was demonstrative and confidential;
and told Margery all about herself. She had come quite recently to
live with her father--during the Baron's illness, in fact--and her
husband had been captain of a ketch.

'I saw you one morning, ma'am,' she said. 'But you didn't see me.
It was when you were crossing the hill in sight of the Lodge. You
looked at it, and sighed. 'Tis the lot of widows to sigh, ma'am, is
it not?'