It was some time before the man could be roused into sufficient consciousness for the performance of this simple duty, and it was only by dipping a pen into the ink and pushing it between his clumsy fingers, that he was at last made to comprehend that his autograph was wanted at the bottom of the receipt which had been made out by Phoebe Marks. Lady Audley took the document as soon as the ink was dry, and turned to leave the parlor. Phoebe followed her.
"You mustn't go home alone, my lady," she said. "You'll let me go with you?"
"Yes, yes; you shall go home with me."
The two women were standing near the door of the inn as my lady said this. Phoebe stared wonderingly at her patroness. She had expected that Lady Audley would be in a hurry to return home after settling this business which she had capriciously taken upon herself; but it was not so; my lady stood leaning against the inn door and staring into vacancy, and again Mrs. Marks began to fear that trouble had driven her late mistress mad.
A little Dutch clock in the bar struck two while Lady Audley lingered in this irresolute, absent manner. She started at the sound and began to tremble violently.
"I think I am going to faint, Phoebe," she said; "where can I get some cold water?"
"The pump is in the wash-house, my lady; I'll run and get you a glass of cold water."
"No, no, no," cried my lady, clutching Phoebe's arm as she was about to run away upon this errand; "I'll get it myself. I must dip my head in a basin of water if I want to save myself from fainting. In which room does Mr. Audley sleep?"
There was something so irrelevant in this question that Phoebe Marks stared aghast at her mistress before she answered it.
"It was number three that I got ready, my lady—the front room—the room next to ours," she replied, after that pause of astonishment.