“Oh, ma’am,” said he, “I am unhappy; I am tormented, ma’am.  I can’t tell you, ma’am; I can’t indeed ma’am!”

“If anything weighs upon your mind, Merton, I would advise you to consult our good clergyman, Dr. Danvers,” urged the lady.

The servant hung his head, and mused for a time gloomily; and then said decisively—­“No, ma’am; no use.”

“And pray, Merton, how long is it since you first entertained this desire?” asked Mrs. Marston.

“Since Sir Wynston Berkley came, ma’am,” answered he.

“Has Sir Wynston annoyed you in any way?” continued she.

“Far from it, ma’am,” he replied; “he is a very kind gentleman.”

“Well, his man, then; is he a respectable, inoffensive person?” she inquired.

“I never met one more so,” said the man, promptly, and raising his head.

“What I wish to know is, whether your desire to go is connected with Sir Wynston and his servant?” said Mrs. Marston.

The man hesitated, and shifted his position uneasily.

“You need not answer, Merton, if you don’t wish it,” she said kindly.

“Why, ma’am, yes, it has something to say to them both,” he replied, with some agitation.

“I really cannot understand this,” said she.

Merton hesitated for some time, and appeared much troubled.  “It was something, ma’am—­something that Sir Wynston’s man said to me; and there it is out,” he said at last, with an effort.

“Well, Merton,” said she, “I won’t press you further; but I must say, that as this communication, whatever it may be, has caused you, unquestionably, very great uneasiness, it seems to me but probable that it affects the safety or the interests of some person—­I cannot say of whom; and, if so, there can be no doubt that it is your duty to acquaint those who are so involved in the disclosure, with its purport.”

“No, ma’am, there is nothing in what I heard that could touch anybody but myself.  It was nothing but what others heard, without remarking it, or thinking about it.  I can’t tell you anymore, ma’am; but I am very unhappy, and uneasy in my mind.”

As the man said this, he began to weep bitterly.

The idea that his mind was affected now seriously occurred to Mrs. Marston, and she resolved to convey her suspicions to her husband, and to leave him to deal with the case as to him should seem good.

“Don’t agitate yourself so, Merton; I shall speak to your master upon what you have said; and you may rely upon it, that no surmise to the prejudice of your character has entered my mind,” said Mrs. Marston, very kindly.

“Oh, ma’am, you are too good,” sobbed the poor man, vehemently.  “You don’t know me, ma’am; I never knew myself till lately.  I am a miserable man.  I am frightened at myself, ma’am—­frightened terribly.  Christ knows, it would be well for me I was dead this minute.”

“I am very sorry for your unhappiness, Merton,” said Mrs. Marston; “and, especially, that I can do nothing to alleviate it; I can but speak, as I have said, to your master, and he will give you your discharge, and arrange whatever else remains to be done.”