"
The thing that ought to be done had to be done, and Mary had done
it--alas! to no purpose for the end desired: what was left her to
do further? She could think of nothing. Sepia, like a moral
hyena, must range her night. She went to bed, and dreamed she was
pursued by a crowd, hooting after her, and calling her all the
terrible names of those who spread evil reports. She woke in
misery, and slept no more.
CHAPTER LII.
A SUMMONS.
One hot Saturday afternoon, in the sleepiest time of the day,
when nothing was doing; and nobody in the shop, except a poor boy
who had come begging for some string to help him fly his kite,
though for the last month wind had been more scarce than string,
Jemima came in from Durnmelling, and, greeting Mary with the
warmth of the friendship that had always been true between them,
gave her a letter.
"Whom is this from?" asked Mary, with the usual human waste of
inquiry, seeing she held the surest answer in her hand.
"Mr. Mewks gave it me," said Jemima. "He didn't say whom it was
from."
Mary made haste to open it: she had an instinctive distrust of
everything that passed through Mewks's hands, and greatly feared
that, much as his master trusted him, he was not true to him. She
found the following note from Mr. Redmain:
"DEAR MISS MARSTON: Come and see me as soon as you can; I have
something to talk to you about.
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