"Holy Virgin!" exclaimed the old woman. "I shall not be ready with the packing. Why this hurry, my angel?"
"Your not being ready, Inez, is of no consequence. I shall start with Messire van Rycke. You will follow on in the wagon."
"But, my saint..."
"Now do not talk so much, Inez," broke in Lenora impatiently; "if you add to my anxieties by being quarrelsome and disobedient I shall surely fall sick and die."
Evidently the young girl knew exactly how to work on her faithful old servant's temperament. Inez reduced to abject contrition by the thought that she was rendering her darling anxious and sick, swore by every saint in the calendar that she would bite off her tongue, toil like a slave and be as obedient as a cur, if only her darling angel would keep well and cheerful and tell her what to do.
"You must not fret about me, Inez," resumed Lenora as soon as the old woman's voluble apologies and protestations had somewhat subsided. "My husband will escort me as far as Brussels, and in my father's house little Pepita will wait on me till you come."
"And if that flighty wench doesn't look after you properly..." began Inez menacingly.
"You will make her suffer, I've no doubt," quoth Lenora dryly. "In the meanwhile, listen carefully, Inez, for there is something that I want you to do for me, which no one else but you can do."
"For which the Lord be thanked!" said Inez fervently. "What is it, my dear?"
"This letter," she said.