While the old ladies talked in this childish, affectionate way, the admiral walked up and down the lawn in front of the house, with his hands clasped behind him, in troubled thought. He, too, was overshadowed by the “coming event.” He had no glance even for the fair Princess Pezzilini, who, calm, placid, and elegant, occupied her usual morning seat in the bay window, where she employed herself with some graceful fancy-work, while Master Valerius Brightwell sat upon a footstool at her feet, reading aloud for her amusement, and occasionally glancing up at her with all a boy’s shy admiration of a beautiful woman.
Annella had not been seen since breakfast-time. But when the family assembled for luncheon at two o’clock, she was called, and appeared with cheeks again so deeply flushed, and eyes so bright and restless, that Mrs. Stilton exclaimed:
“That child is on the very verge of brain-fever!”
And she not only ordered her off to bed, but went herself to see her order obeyed.
Annella made no resistance; but as soon as her head was on the pillow, and a brown paper, wet with vinegar, was laid upon her brow, she said:
“Now, grandmamma, all I want is to be let to go to sleep, and if Madame Pezzilini will be kind enough to let Tabitha come and sit by me, I shall do very well.”
“But why Tabitha? Why not your own woman?” inquired the old lady.
“Because I hate my own woman, and I love Tabitha—and—it will make my head ache to talk more about it.”
“Well, well, my baby, it shall be just as you please,” said the indulgent old dame, shutting the door softly and retiring.
A few moments passed, and then the door was as softly opened, and Tabitha, stepping lightly, entered. She first went noiselessly to the windows, and made them quite dark by closing the storm-shutters, and then stole silently to the side of the bed to see if Annella slept.