Hepushedthepageacrossthetable，withhisfingerononesentence。Midwinter’sagitationmisledhim。Hemistooktheindication，andread，“AvoidthewidowofthemanIkilled，ifthewidowstilllives。”
“Notthatsentence。”saidtherector。“Thenext。”
Midwinterreadit:“Avoidthemaidwhosewickedhandsmoothedthewaytothemarriage，ifthemaidisstillinherservice。”
“Themaidandthemistressparted。”saidMr。Brock，“atthetimeofthemistress’smarriage。ThemaidandthemistressmetagainatMrs。Armadale’sresidenceinSomersetshirelastyear。Imyselfmetthewomaninthevillage，andImyselfknowthathervisithastenedMrs。Armadale’sdeath。Waitalittle，andcomposeyourself;IseeIhavestartledyou。”
Hewaitedashewasbid，hiscolorfadingawaytoagraypalenessandthelightinhisclearbrowneyesdyingoutslowly。Whattherectorhadsaidhadproducednotransientimpressiononhim;