"
"Oh, yes, it is not that; but you know, under the beech-tree--"
"Ay!" said he, heavily. "It's been oftentimes on my mind, waking, and I
think there's ne'er a night as I don't dream of it."
"But how can I leave it!" Ellinor cried. "They may do a hundred
things--may dig up the shrubbery. Oh! Dixon, I feel as if it was sure to
be found out! Oh! Dixon, I cannot bear any more blame on papa--it will
kill me--and such a dreadful thing, too!"
Dixon's face fell into the lines of habitual pain that it had always
assumed of late years whenever he was thinking or remembering anything.
"They must ne'er ha' reason to speak ill of the dead, that's for
certain," said he. "The Wilkinses have been respected in Hamley all my
lifetime, and all my father's before me, and--surely, missy, there's ways
and means of tying tenants up from alterations both in the house and out
of it, and I'd beg the trustees, or whatever they's called, to be very
particular, if I was you, and not have a thing touched either in the
house, or the gardens, or the meadows, or the stables. I think, wi' a
word from you, they'd maybe keep me on i' the stables, and I could look
after things a bit; and the Day o' Judgment will come at last, when all
our secrets will be made known wi'out our having the trouble and the
shame o' telling 'em. I'm getting rayther tired o' this world, Miss
Ellinor.
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