The thread of life was wearing thinner every day. It might snap at any
hour. In the meantime the only regime was repose of body and mind, an
all-pervading calm, the avoidance of all exciting topics. One moment of
violent agitation might prove fatal.
Knowing this, how could Lord Hartfield call her ladyship to account for
the presence of that mysterious old man under Steadman's charge?--how
venture to touch upon a topic which, by Mary's showing, had exercised a
most disturbing influence upon her ladyship's mind on that solitary
occasion when the girl ventured to approach the subject?
He felt that any attempt at an explanation was impossible. It was not
for him to precipitate Lady Maulevrier's end by prying into her secrets.
Granted that shame and dishonour of some kind were involved in the
existence of that strange old man, he, Lord Hartfield, must endure his
portion in that shame--must be content to leave the dark riddle
unsolved.
He resigned himself to this state of things, and tried to forget the
cloud that hung over the house of Haselden; but the sense of a mystery,
a fatal family secret, which must come to light sooner or later--since
all such secrets are known at last--known, sifted, and bandied about
from lip to lip, and published in a thousand different newspapers, and
cried aloud in the streets--the sense of such a secret, the dread of
such a revelation weighed upon him heavily.
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