She echoed me, not like a living woman, but like a creature moved by machinery.  She went on sweeping all the time.  I took away the broom as gently and as kindly as I could.

“Come, come, my girl!” I said, “this is not like yourself.  You have got something on your mind.  I’m your friend—­and I’ll stand your friend, even if you have done wrong.  Make a clean breast of it, Rosanna—­make a clean breast of it!”

The time had been, when my speaking to her in that way would have brought the tears into her eyes.  I could see no change in them now.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ll make a clean breast of it.”

“To my lady?” I asked.

“No.”

“To Mr. Franklin?”

“Yes; to Mr. Franklin.”

I hardly knew what to say to that.  She was in no condition to understand the caution against speaking to him in private, which Mr. Franklin had directed me to give her.  Feeling my way, little by little, I only told her Mr. Franklin had gone out for a walk.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered.  “I shan’t trouble Mr. Franklin, to-day.”

“Why not speak to my lady?” I said.  “The way to relieve your mind is to speak to the merciful and Christian mistress who has always been kind to you.”

She looked at me for a moment with a grave and steady attention, as if she was fixing what I said in her mind.  Then she took the broom out of my hands and moved off with it slowly, a little way down the corridor.

“No,” she said, going on with her sweeping, and speaking to herself; “I know a better way of relieving my mind than that.”

“What is it?”

“Please to let me go on with my work.”

Penelope followed her, and offered to help her.

She answered, “No.  I want to do my work.  Thank you, Penelope.”  She looked round at me.  “Thank you, Mr. Betteredge.”

There was no moving her—­there was nothing more to be said.  I signed to Penelope to come away with me.  We left her, as we had found her, sweeping the corridor, like a woman in a dream.

“This is a matter for the doctor to look into,” I said.  “It’s beyond me.”

My daughter reminded me of Mr. Candy’s illness, owing (as you may remember) to the chill he had caught on the night of the dinner-party.  His assistant—­a certain Mr. Ezra Jennings—­was at our disposal, to be sure.  But nobody knew much about him in our parts.  He had been engaged by Mr. Candy under rather peculiar circumstances; and, right or wrong, we none of us liked him or trusted him.  There were other doctors at Frizinghall.  But they were strangers to our house; and Penelope doubted, in Rosanna’s present state, whether strangers might not do her more harm than good.

I thought of speaking to my lady.  But, remembering the heavy weight of anxiety which she already had on her mind, I hesitated to add to all the other vexations this new trouble.  Still, there was a necessity for doing something.  The girl’s state was, to my thinking, downright alarming—­and my mistress ought to be informed of it.  Unwilling enough, I went to her sitting-room.  No one was there.  My lady was shut up with Miss Rachel.  It was impossible for me to see her till she came out again.