Eudora sprang forward, expecting to meet Malcolm Montrose, but she found herself confronted with a stranger—a very young, slight, graceful girl, dressed in simple but elegant mourning, and deeply veiled; and even when the stranger threw aside her veil Eudora failed to recognize in this elegantly-dressed young lady Annella Wilder, the tipsy captain’s half-starved daughter, whom she had befriended in the poor London lodgings.
“You do not know me, Miss Miller—I mean Miss Leaton—and I—oh!” began Annella, but losing her self-command, she burst into tears, and threw herself in the arms of Eudora, who, weakened by long, intense suffering, sat down in her chair, and would have drawn the girl to her bosom, but Annella sank to the floor, and dropped her head on Eudora’s lap, sobbing violently.
Miss Leaton could not understand this excessive emotion. She recollected Annella’s unfortunate barrack education, her utter destitution after her father’s death, and her wild flight from London; and seeing now the costliness of her attire, and being totally ignorant of the change in her circumstances, the mind of Eudora was filled with the darkest fears for Annella. But if she should find that this young, friendless, and inexperienced girl had really come to grief, Eudora resolved to befriend her as far as possible by interesting the noble-hearted Malcolm in her fate to save her from irremediable ruin. While these thoughts coursed through the young prisoner’s mind, she gently untied her visitor’s bonnet and laid it on the bed, and softly caressed the bowed head, while she inquired, in a low voice:
“What is the matter, dear Annella? I am not so utterly bewildered by my own woe but that I may be able to comfort you. Tell me what trouble you are in, and if I cannot help you very long myself, because I may have to die next Wednesday, I can leave you to one who will be a brother to you for my sake.”
“Oh, Miss Leaton, Miss Leaton, say no more! Every word you speak goes through my heart like a spear!” cried Annella, breaking into harder sobs.
“No, no, don’t say so! I wish only to do you good. Tell me the nature of the difficulty you are in,” said Eudora, gently caressing the weeping girl.
“Oh! I am in no difficulty myself; it is all right enough with me personally, and far better than I deserve, Heaven forgive me! And even if it were not, how could I think of my good-for-nothing self while you are in such terrible straits!” cried Annella, wildly sobbing.
“Then do not weep for me, kind girl; it can do no good, you see.”
“Oh, but you don’t know how much reason I have to weep—yes, tears of blood, Eudora; for it was I that did it! I! I!”
“You!—did what?” asked Eudora, in astonishment.