CHAPTER IV.

AN ENEMY IN THE HOUSE.

Not having anything better to do, Atherton began to wander about the deserted suite of apartments, with which his own chamber communicated by a side door.

As the windows were closed, the rooms looked very dark, and he could see but little, and what he did see, impressed him with a melancholy feeling; but the furthest room in the suite looked lighter and more cheerful than the others, simply because the shutters had been opened.

It was a parlour, but most of the furniture had been removed, and only a few chairs and a table were left.

Atherton sat down, and was ruminating upon his position, when a door behind was softly opened--so very softly that he heard no sound.

But he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder, and, looking up, beheld Constance standing beside him.

When he met her in the park with Monica, he had not noticed any material alteration in her appearance; but now that he gazed into her face, he was very much struck by the change which a week or two had wrought in her looks.

Dressed in deep mourning, she looked much thinner than heretofore, and the roses had entirely flown from her cheeks; but the extreme paleness of her complexion heightened the lustre of her magnificent black eyes, and contrasted forcibly with her dark locks, while the traces of sadness lent fresh interest to her features.

Not without anxiety did Atherton gaze at her, and at last he said:

"You have been ill, Constance?"

"Not very ill," she replied, with a faint smile. "I am better--and shall soon be quite well. My illness has been rather mental than bodily. I have never quite recovered from the terrible shock which I had to undergo--and, besides, I have been very uneasy about you. Now that you are safe I shall soon recover my health and spirits. At one time I feared I should never behold you again, and then I began to droop."

"I thought you possessed great firmness, Constance," he remarked.

"So I fancied, but I found myself unequal to the trial," she rejoined. "I had no one to cheer me. Monica's distress was even greater than my own, and her mother did not offer us much consolation, for she seemed convinced that both you and Jemmy were doomed to die as traitors."

"Well, your apprehensions are now at an end, so far as I am concerned," said Atherton; "and I see no cause for uneasiness in regard to Jemmy, for he is certain to escape in one way or other. I hope to meet him a month hence in Paris. But I shall not leave England till I learn he is free, as if he fails to escape, I must try to accomplish his deliverance."

"Do not run any further risk," she cried.

"I have promised to help him, and I must keep my word," he rejoined.

"I ought not to attempt to dissuade you, for I love Jemmy dearly, but I love you still better, and I therefore implore you for my sake--if not for your own--not to expose yourself to further danger. I will now tell you frankly that I could not go through such another week as I have just passed."

"But you must now feel that your apprehensions were groundless; and if I should be placed in any fresh danger you must take courage from the past."

"Perhaps you will say that I am grown very timorous, and I can scarcely account for my misgivings--but I will not conceal them. I don't think you are quite safe in this house."

"Why not? Old Markland is devoted to me, I am quite sure, and no one else among the household is aware of my arrival."

"But I am sadly afraid they may discover you."

"You are indeed timorous. Even if I should be discovered, I don't think any of them would be base enough to betray me."

"I have another ground for uneasiness, more serious than this, but I scarcely like to allude to it, because I may be doing an injustice to the person who causes my alarm. I fear you have an enemy in the house."

Atherton looked at her inquiringly, and then said:

"I can only have one enemy--Father Jerome."

She made no answer, but he perceived from her looks that he had guessed aright.

"'Tis unlucky he is established in the house. Why did you bring him here?"

"I could not help it. And he has been most useful to me. But I know he does not like you; and I also know that his nature is malicious and vindictive. I hope he may not find out that you are concealed in the house. I have cautioned Markland, and Monica does not require to be cautioned. Ah! what was that?" she added, listening anxiously. "I thought I heard a noise in the adjoining chamber."

"It may be Markland," said Atherton. "But I will go and see."

With this, he stepped quickly into the next room, the door of which stood ajar.

As we have mentioned, the shutters were closed, and the room was dark, but still, if any listener had been there, he must have been detected. The room, however, seemed quite empty.

Not satisfied with this inspection, Atherton went on through the whole suite of apartments, and with a like result.

"You must have been mistaken," he said on his return to Constance. "I could find no eaves-dropper."

"I am glad to hear it, for I feared that a certain person might be there. But I must now leave you. I hope you will not find your confinement intolerably wearisome. You will be able to get out at night--but during the daytime you must not quit these rooms."

"Come frequently to see me, and the time will pass pleasantly enough," he rejoined.

"I must not come too often or my visits will excite suspicion," she replied. "But I will send you some books by Markland."

"There is a private communication between this part of the house and the library. May I not venture to make use of it?"

"Not without great caution," she rejoined. "Father Jerome is constantly in the library. But I will try to get him away in the evening, and Markland shall bring you word when you can descend with safety."

"Surely some plan might be devised by which Father Jerome could be got rid of for a time?" said Atherton.

"I have thought the matter over, but no such plan occurs to me," replied Constance. "He rarely quits the house, and were I to propose to him to take a journey, or pay a visit, he would immediately suspect I had an object in doing so. But even if he were willing to go, my Aunt Butler I am sure would object."

"Is she not aware that I am in the house?"

"No, Monica and I thought it better not to trust her. She could not keep the secret from Father Jerome."

"Then since the evil cannot be remedied it must be endured," said Atherton.

"That is the right way to view it," rejoined Constance. "Not till the moment of your departure must Father Jerome learn that you have taken refuge here. And now, adieu!"