These, to be
sure, were the words of superannuation, and of the last and
severest kind of it; but, for all that, they sunk deep into Miss
Logan's soul, and at last she began to think with herself: "Is it
possible the Wringhims, and the sophisticating wretch who is in
conjunction with them, the mother of my late beautiful and
amiable young master, can have effected his destruction? If so, I
will spend my days, and my little patrimony, in endeavours to
rake up and expose the unnatural deed."
In all her outgoings and incomings Mrs. Logan (as she was now
styled) never lost sight of this one object. Every new
disappointment only whetted her desire to fish up some
particulars, concerning it; for she thought so long and so ardently
upon it that by degrees it became settled in her mind as a sealed
truth. And, as woman is always most jealous of her own sex in
such matters, her suspicions were fixed on her greatest enemy,
Mrs. Colwan, now the Lady Dowager of Dalcastle. All was wrapt
in a chaos of confusion and darkness; but at last, by dint of a
thousand sly and secret inquiries, Mrs. Logan found out where
Lady Dalcastle had been on the night that the murder happened,
and likewise what company she had kept, as well as some of the
comers and goers; and she had hopes of having discovered a clue,
which, if she could keep hold of the thread, would lead her
through darkness to the light of truth.
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