'Good-night, sir,' said Steadman.
'Good-night. You are sure that Lady Maulevrier may be left safely--that
there is no fear of illness of any kind?'
'No, sir. It was only a bad dream. Good-night, sir.'
Steadman went back to his own quarters. Mr. Hammond heard him draw the
bolts of the swing door, thus cutting off all communication with the
corridor.
The eight-day clock on the staircase struck two as Mr. Hammond returned
to his room, even less inclined for sleep than when he left it. Strange,
that nocturnal disturbance of a mind which seemed so tranquil in the
day. Or was that tranquillity only a mask which her ladyship wore before
the world: and was the bitter memory of events which happened forty
years ago still a source of anguish to that highly strung nature?
'There are some minds which cannot forget,' John Hammond said to
himself, as he meditated upon her ladyship's character and history. 'The
story of her husband's crime may still be fresh in her memory, though it
is only a tradition for the outside world. His crime may have involved
some deep wrong done to herself, some outrage against her love and faith
as a wife.
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