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Updated: May 22, 2025
Did he say anything striking or strange about himself? 'Only one thing that he was troubled, 'Troubled! After saying the word, Miss Aldclyffe relapsed into silence. Such behaviour as this had ended, on most previous occasions, by her making a confession, and Cytherea expected one now. But for once she was mistaken, nothing more was said.
It was a yellow, lustrous, late autumn day, one of those days of the quarter when morning and evening seem to meet together without the intervention of a noon. The clear yellow sunlight had tempted forth Miss Aldclyffe herself, who was at this same time taking a walk in the direction of the village.
Then the secret meetings between Miss Aldclyffe and the other woman at the little inn at Hammersmith and other places: the commonplace name she adopted: her swoon at some painful news, and the very slight knowledge the elder female had of her partner in mystery.
In a few minutes she saw Manston, with Miss Aldclyffe leaning on his arm, cross the glade before her and proceed in the direction of the house. She watched them ascend the rise and advance, as two black spots, towards the mansion. The appearance of an oblong space of light in the dark mass of walls denoted that the door was opened.
'Who is he engaged to? Cytherea inquired by a movement of her lips but no sound of her voice. But Miss Aldclyffe did not answer. It mattered not, Cytherea thought. Another woman that was enough for her: curiosity was stunned. She applied herself to the work of dressing, scarcely knowing how. Miss Aldclyffe went on: 'You were too easily won.
'But for that stratagem of Manston's in relation to the Springroves, Owen thought, 'Cythie might now have been the happy wife of Edward. True, that he influenced Miss Aldclyffe only rests on Edward's suspicions, but the grounds are good the probability is strong. He went indoors and questioned Cytherea. 'On the night of the fire, who first said that Mrs. Manston was burnt? he asked.
Quick as thought, Miss Aldclyffe stood before the table, slipped her hand behind her, took one of the envelopes and put it in her pocket. She sauntered round the rooms for two or three minutes longer, then withdrew and returned to her hotel.
'Don't you want to tell me who Edward is? she said at last, in a tone of meaning. 'I don't mind telling; only.... 'You would rather not, I suppose? 'Yes. Miss Aldclyffe shifted her ground. 'Were you ever in love? she inquired suddenly. Cytherea was surprised to hear how quickly the voice had altered from tenderness to harshness, vexation, and disappointment.
The remark of Miss Aldclyffe to Manston had plainly been concerning the first watcher, for Manston, with his spade in his hand, instantly rushed to where the man was concealed, and, before the latter could disengage himself from the boughs, the steward struck him on the head with the blade of the instrument. The man fell to the ground. 'Fly! said Miss Aldclyffe to Manston.
The meaning of all his allusions, his abruptness in telling her of his love, his constraint at first, then his desperate manner of speaking, was clear. They must have been the last flickerings of a conscience not quite dead to all sense of perfidiousness and fickleness. Now he had gone to London: she would be dismissed from his memory, in the same way as Miss Aldclyffe had said.
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