Her swoon was now passing off. The genial warmth of the fire which shone full on her revived her. Opening her eyes she looked up at Miss Laury, who was now bending close over her and wetting her lips with some cordial. Recognizing a stranger she shyly turned her glance aside and asked for her servants.
‘They are in the house, madam, and perfectly safe. But you cannot pursue your journey at present: the carriage is much broken.’
The lady lay silent. She looked keenly round the room, and seeing the perfect elegance of its arrangement, the cheerful and tranquil glow of its hearth-light, she appeared to grow more composed. Turning a little on the cushions which supported her, and by no means looking at Miss Laury, but straight the other way, she said:
‘To whom am I indebted for this kindness? Where am I?’
‘In a hospitable country, madam; the Angrians never turn their backs on strangers.’
‘I know I am in Angria,’ she said quickly, ‘but where? What is the name of the house? Who are you?’
Miss Laury coloured slightly; it seemed as if there was some undefined reluctance to give her real name.
‘I am only the housekeeper,’ she said. ‘This is a shooting-lodge belonging to a great Angrian proprietor.’
‘Who?’ asked the lady, who was not to be put off by indirect answers.
Again Miss Laury hesitated. She replied hastily: