What had my aunt been doing for forty minutes in Michael's room?
And why had she opened the window?
I spare you my reflections on these perplexing questions. Aconvenient headache saved me from the ordeal of meeting Lady Claudia at the dinner-table. I passed a restless and miserable night; conscious that I had found my way blindly, as it were, to some terrible secret which might have its influence on my whole future life, and not knowing what to think, or what to do next.
Even then, I shrank instinctively from speaking to my uncle. This was not wonderful. But I felt afraid to speak to Michael--and that perplexed and alarmed me. Consideration for Lady Claudia was certainly not the motive that kept me silent, after what I had seen.
The next morning my pale face abundantly justified the assertion that I was still ill.
My aunt, always doing her maternal duty toward me, came herself to inquire after my health before I was out of my room. So certain was she of not having been observed on the previous day--or so prodigious was her power of controlling herself--that she actually advised me to go out riding before lunch, and try what the fresh air and the exercise would do to relieve me!
