For five-and-twenty years afterwards she
haunted us at intervals; and so singularly and secretly conducted
were all her movements, that had she lived in the days of the
Inquisition, Miss Jerningham might have proved one of its most
valuable agents and coadjutors. She was a thin, middle-aged
personage, or, more correctly speaking, of uncertain age, and
without anything remarkable in her exterior, which was decidedly
lady-like, if we except a pair of the very smallest and most
restless brown eyes that were ever set in mortal's head. These eyes
expressed suspicion, together with intelligence and close
observation. They were clear and sparkling, and shaded by no
drooping fringes; and some folks declared that Miss Jerningham slept
with her eyes open. On conversing with her, she appeared to have
been everywhere and to know everything; but the moment any allusion
was made to the future, any attempt to discuss _her_ prospective
plans, then did the little brown eyes assume a reddish tinge, their
expression passing from suspicion and alarm to the most stubborn
resolve. All this was somewhat ludicrous, because nobody really felt
particular interest in her movements, or desired to pry into her
actions; but on discovering what appeared to be the weak point in
her character--because it was out of all proportion strong--idle
people, in search of amusement, availed themselves of the knowledge
to lead her a very uncomfortable life.
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