“See—who?”
“Miss Conyers, sir.”
“Miss Conyers!” exclaimed Justin.
And all the joy his sorrow could admit for companionship rushed into his heart. But then came wonder and perplexity, and he repeated slowly—“Miss Conyers?”
“Yes, sir, Miss Conyers, and she’s just offen a long journey, and she looks completely wored out.”
“I will see her immediately,” said Justin.
And he stole to the bedside, whispered the news of the arrival to Dr. Sales, and then he followed old Frederica from the room, and down the stairs.
He opened the library door.
There stood Britomarte, sun-burned, dusty, travel-stained, almost unrecognizable, but undoubtedly Britomarte.
“Britomarte! Miss Conyers!” exclaimed Justin, going towards her with both hands stretched forth.