She stole into the bed-chamber, and taking a crystal flask full of water from a marble slab, dashed a portion of its contents over the pale face still lying so deathly white against the damask cushions.
This, however, had no effect. She now took the cold hands in hers, chafing them tenderly, removed the dainty cap and scattered water-drops over the pale lips and forehead. With a degree of tact that no one would have expected from her, she refrained from calling the household, and continued her own efforts till life came slowly back to the bosom that a moment before seemed as marble.
Ada opened her eyes heavily, and closed them again with a shudder, when she saw the woman bending over her.
"Go!" she said, still pressing her long eyelashes together; "leave word where you live, and I will send you money."
"For the old man?"
"No; for yourself, not for his murderer?"
"I did not ask money for myself," answered the woman, sullenly. "If you give it, I shall pay the lawyers to save him!"
"Then go, I have nothing for you or him—go," answered Ada, faintly, but in a voice that admitted no dispute; and, rising from her chair, she went into the bed-room and closed the door.
The woman looked after her with some anger and more astonishment; then drawing down her hood she tied it deliberately, and strode into the boudoir, down the stairs, and so out of the house, without deigning to notice the servants, who took no pains to conceal their astonishment, that a creature of her appearance should be admitted to the presence of their mistress.