“She’s worse, Sir,” whispered the woman, as she crossed the threshold of her door, and exchanged a word with her daughter. “Biddy says she’s clean out of her mind now—listen to that! The Lord have mercy on us!”
It was a wild scream rang through the house, followed by a burst of fearful laughter.
“Ask her if she’ll see me,” said O’Rorke, in a low voice.
“That’s O’Rorke’s voice!” Kate cried out from the top of the stairs. “Let him come up. I want to see him. Come up!” She leaned over the railing of the stairs as she spoke, and even O’Rorke was horror-struck at the ashy paleness of her face, and a fearful brilliancy that shone in her eyes. “It’s a very humble place, Mr. O’Rorke, I am obliged to receive you in,” said she, with a strange smile, as he entered; “but I have only just arrived here, you see I have not even changed my dress; pray sit down, if you can find a chair; all is in disorder here—and, would you believe it?”—here her manner became suddenly earnest, and her voice dropped to a whisper—“would you believe it? my maid has never come to me, never asked me if I wanted her since I came. It’s getting dark, too, and must be late.”
“Listen to me, now, Miss Kate,” said he, with a touch almost of pity in his voice, “listen to me. You’re not well, you’re tired and exhausted, so I’ll send the woman of the house to you, and get to bed, and I’ll find out a doctor to order you something.”
“Yes, I should like to see a doctor; that kind person I saw before, Sir Henry something—what was it? You will see it in the Court Guide—he attends the Queen.”
“To be sure, to be sure, we’ll have the man that attends the Queen!” said he, giving his concurrence to what he imagined to be the fancy of an erring brain.
“And if he should ask why I am here,” added she, in a whisper, “make out some sort of excuse, but don’t mention my grandfather; these fashionable physicians are such snobs, they cannot abide visiting any but great folk. Isn’t it true?”
“Yes, dear, it is true,” said he, still humouring her.
“The fact is,” said she, in a low, confiding voice, “I may confess it to you, but the fact is, I don’t well know why I am here myself! I suppose Sir Within knows—perhaps my uncle may.” And in her vague, meaningless look might now be seen how purposeless and unguided were all her speculations. “There, go now, and send my maid to me. Tell Coles, as you pass down, he may put up the horses. I’ll not ride this evening. Do you know, I feel—it is a silly fancy, I suppose—but I feel ill; not actually ill so much as odd.”