whose very names I want you to promise never to mention again: the one who died, and”—in a voice both wistful and bitter—“your innocent man!”
Daintree promised.
And he kept his word.
Meanwhile, a minor result of the reprieve was the speedy departure of Claire’s wicked maid. She watched a day or two, and then decided that her hold upon her mistress was gone.
The fact was that, though Claire was resolved to atone to Daintree for her long duplicity, the atonement itself came less easily than she had hoped. His mission accomplished, the man of action was sunk once more in the invertebrate poet; and the latter took such advantage of the kind ear now lent him, that Claire was wearied to distraction, and soon forgot the philanthropist in the bore. The poetry got upon her slackened nerves, and an afternoon of the poet would leave her utterly tired out. This Hannah saw: also that her lady’s heart was still in Newgate, whether she knew it or not: therefore that to open Daintree’s eyes would be to do her no very bad turn, however she might feel it at the time. In a word, this clever woman read her mistress better than her mistress read herself. She gave notice on the spot.
“And I’ll forfeit my month’s wages, miss, and go this morning—in case you change your mind about them presents!”
“I am not likely to do that,” replied Claire, dispassionately. “You held your tongue when I wanted it held: his life is saved, and that’s all I care about in this world.”
