Emily thanked him, assured him that he might repose on her discretion, and entreated him to dispatch.
“Annette told us in the hall how unhappy you were about Signora Montoni, and how much you wished to know what was become of her.”
“Most true,” said Emily eagerly, “and you can inform me. I conjure you tell me the worst, without hesitation.” She rested her trembling arm upon the wall.
“I can tell you,” said Barnardine, and paused.—
Emily had no power to enforce her entreaties.
“I can tell you,” resumed Barnardine,—“but—”
“But what?” exclaimed Emily, recovering her resolution.
“Here I am, ma’amselle,” said Annette, who, having heard the eager tone, in which Emily pronounced these words, came running towards her.
“Retire!” said Barnardine, sternly; “you are not wanted;” and, as Emily said nothing, Annette obeyed.
“I can tell you,” repeated the porter,—“but I know not how—you were afflicted before.—”