To which Mrs. Stafford, determined whatever it cost her to know the truth, said—'No—my business is with your lady.'
The woman now appeared more confused than before; and said, hesitatingly—'I—I—my lady—I fancy you are mistaken, madam.'
'Go in, however, and let your mistress know that Mrs. Stafford desires to speak to her.'
The maid reluctantly and hesitatingly went in, and after staying some time, came back.
'My mistress, Madam, says she has not the pleasure of knowing you; and being ill, and in bed, she hopes you will excuse her if she desires you will acquaint her with your business by me.'
'No,' replied Mrs. Stafford, 'I must see her myself. Tell her my business is of consequence to us both, and that I will wait till it is convenient to her to speak to me.'
With this message the maid went back, with looks of great consternation, to her mistress. They fancied they heard somebody sigh and weep extremely. The maid came out once or twice and carried back water and hartshorn.
At length, after waiting near half an hour, the door opened, and the stranger appeared, leaning on the arm of her woman. She wore a long, white muslin morning gown, and a large muslin cap almost concealed her face; her dark hair seemed to escape from under it, to form a decided contrast to the extreme whiteness of her skin; and her long eye lashes hid her eyes, which were cast down, and which bore the marks of recent tears. If it were possible to personify languor and dejection, it could not be done more expressively than by representing her form, her air, her complexion, and the mournful cast of her very beautiful countenance.
She slowly approached Mrs. Stafford, lifted up her melancholy eyes to Emmeline, and attempted to speak.
'I am at a loss to know, ladies,' said she, 'what can be your'—— But unable to finish the sentence, she sat down, and seemed ready to faint. The maid held her smelling bottle to her.