"A man possessed of all this," thought Mr. Forster again; "he must be mad."
Then the carriage stopped before the grand entrance of one of the most magnificent mansions in England. Ulverston Priory—whose beauty has been described, in prose and in verse, by pens more eloquent than mine.
"Is Lady Carruthers at home?" asked Mr. Forster of the stately old butler.
"My lady is at home, sir."
"Will you ask if it is convenient for me to see her? I have come hastily from London on important business."
With all the solemnity an old family retainer displays on such occasions, the butler led the way to the library.
"I will send your message to my lady at once, sir."
He went away and soon returned.
"My lady is dressing, but she will be with you in a few minutes." He placed a decanter of the famous Ulverston sherry on the table, and withdrew. Mr. Forster gladly helped himself to a glass. "I would take that or anything else to give me courage," he said to himself. "How am I to tell her? I know not."
In a quarter of an hour the door opened, and a stately lady, magnificently dressed, entered the room. She was very dignified, of queenly presence and bearing, with the remains of great beauty in her face.