some one talking to grandmother in the next room--the door wasn't
wide open, only ajar. I shouldn't have known who it was, for I'm not
quick at telling voices, like other folks; but I heard grandmother
call her Mrs. Darrell; and I heard the lady say that when one was
sick and tired of life, and had no one left to live for, it was best
to die; and grandmother laughed, and says yes, there wasn't much to
live for, leastways not for such as her. And then they talked a
little more; and then by and by Mrs. Darrell asked her for some
stuff--I didn't hear the name of it, for Mrs. Darrell only whispered
it. Grandmother says no, and stuck to it for a good time; but Mrs.
Darrell offered her money, and then more and more money. She says it
couldn't matter whether she got the stuff from her or from any one
else. She could get it easily enough, she says, in any large town.
And she didn't know as she should use it, she says. It was more
likely than not she never would; but she wanted to have it by her,
so as to feel she was able to put an end to her life, if ever it
grew burdensome to her. "You'll never use it against any one else?"
says grandmother; and Mrs. Darrell says who was there she could use
it against, and what harm need she wish to anybody; she was rich
enough, and had nothing to gain from anybody's death. So at last,
after a deal of talk, grandmother gave her the stuff; and I heard
her counting out money--I think it was a hundred pounds--and then she
went away in the rain.'

I remembered that night upon which Mrs. Darrell had stayed out so
long in the rain--the night that followed her stormy interview with
Angus Egerton.

I told Peter that he had done quite right in telling me this, and
begged him not to mention it to any one else until I gave him