— 30 —The painter was waiting for Mrs. Sacret at Minton Street, and assisted the cab-man, under the quizzical gaze of the neighbors, on doorsteps and at windows, to take her trunks into the house.
As soon as the parlor door was shut on them, the widow gave the valise to Mark Bellis and told her story. When she had finished she felt exhausted and was trembling. She could not judge from his expression if he was pleased with her conduct.
“You lack sleep and food,” he remarked kindly. “You must keep your nerve.”
“When do we leave London?” she interrupted. “I am well enough—let us get away.”
“You must return to the Old Priori!”
“No. I really cannot—you have no idea what it is like there—this horrible illness.”
“It is not your fault or mine,” replied the painter. “If this melancholy fellow
