'
'Yes, indeed, grandmother,' exclaimed Mary, whose vivid imagination
conjured up a vision of padded cells, strait-waist-coats,
murderously-inclined keepers, chains, handcuffs, and bread and water
diet, 'now I understand why the poor old soul has been kept so
close--why nobody knows of his existence. I beg Steadman's pardon with
all my heart. He is a much better fellow than I thought him.'
'Steadman is a thoroughly good fellow, and as true as steel,' said her
ladyship. 'No one can know that so well as the mistress he has served
faithfully for nearly half a century. I hope, Mary, you have not been
chattering to Fraeulein or any one else about your discovery.'
'No, grandmother, I have not said a word to a mortal, but----'
'Oh, there is a "but," is there? I understand. You have not been so
reticent in your letters to Mr. Hammond.'
'I tell him all that happens to me. There is very little to write about
at Fellside; yet I contrive to send him volumes. I often wonder what
poor girls did in the days of Miss Austen's novels, when letters cost a
shilling or eighteen pence for postage, and had to be paid for by the
recipient.
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