The woman looked about thirty-five years old, and possessed the remains of great beauty. She was haggard and worn: her cheeks were sunken, though brilliantly red, and her large, velvety-brown eyes were strangely bright. Her dark, waving hair had probably once been curled over her brow: it now hung almost straight, and had a rough, dishevelled look, which corresponded with the soiled and untidy appearance of her dress. Her gown and mantle were of rich stuff, but torn and stained in many places; and her gloves and boots were shabby to the very last degree, while her bonnet, of cheap and tawdry materials, had at any rate the one merit of being fresh and new. Altogether she was an odd figure to be seen in a country place; and Janetta wondered greatly whence she came, and what her errand was at the Red House.
"Can I do anything for you?" she asked.
"This is the Red House, I suppose?" the woman asked, hoarsely.
"Yes, it is."
"Wyvis Brand's house?"
Janetta hesitated in surprise, and then said, "Yes," in a rather distant tone.
"Who are you?" said the woman, looking at her sharply.
"I am governess to Mr. Brand's little boy."
"Oh, indeed. And he's at home, I suppose?"
"No," said Janetta, gravely, "he has been away for more than a year, and is now, I believe, on his way to America."