Thereupon the visitor raised her veil, and Margaret saw a face that was pretty, and would have been girlish, but for its pallor and the lines which had been impressed upon it either by sorrow or sickness.
When she raised her veil she let her hands drop into her lap, and clasped them tightly and nervously, and her lips quivered.
Margaret remained standing, but the visitor sank into the seat from which she had risen, as if unable to stand.
"You—you will wonder—you will be surprised at my—my presence," she began, then she broke off and clutched at her dress nervously. "Oh, how can I go on? Bear with me, I beseech you! Be patient with me, I implore!"
Margaret looked down at her with surprise, that slowly melted to pity.
"I am afraid you are in some trouble," she said, gently, and Margaret's voice, when it was gentle, was compounded of the music which is said to disarm savage beasts.
It seemed to move the pale-faced girl strangely. She caught her breath and appeared to wince.
"I am in great trouble," she said. "You cannot tell, you will never know what it has cost me to come to you. But—but it is my only chance!"
She paused to gain breath, and Margaret sank into a chair, and wondered how much she might venture to offer her. She had all the money the earl had given her for her pictures, and some other savings besides. Of course it was pecuniary trouble.
"I am very, very sorry," she said, "and if I can help you——"