“I do not know how anybody can have the spirits to drink tea on such a night as this, but I suppose it will be wanted all the same; for Iry never turns aside from his way for any storm that ever falls, and as for the princess, she looks like just such another. So, Abby, child, you may ring for the tea.”
Mrs. Brunton, who sat nearest the chimney-corner bell-pull, complied, and the tea-service was brought in and arranged upon the table.
And soon after they were joined by the admiral, who, “despite the storm that howled along the sky,” had made a very careful evening toilet, and by his nephew, Midshipman Valerius Brightwell, a fine, tall, dark-haired young man, who, when not on active service, was at home at the Anchorage.
These had scarcely taken their seats when the door opened, and the Princess Pezzilini entered, her golden hair and fair face radiant in contrast to the rich black velvet dress that was her usual costume.
Way was immediately made for her, the young midshipman was presented in due form, and the whole party sat down to tea.
The storm had spent its fury, and now only revived at intervals in inoffensive blasts of wind, faint flashes of lightning, and low mutterings of thunder.
And the conversation at the tea-table became animated, even upon a gloomy subject.
They talked of the tragedy at Allworth Abbey, and of the flight of Eudora.
Opinion was divided upon the subject of the accused girl’s guilt or innocence.
The two old ladies and the admiral agreed in pronouncing the evidence against her to be too convincing to admit a doubt upon the subject.