“My own dear mother, it is nothing that should give you any uneasiness. I have had a long, fatiguing ride, and—I have not heard from India for more than a week. How is my Pearl?”
“Ah, rogue! a lover’s anxiety. Is that the cause of those haggard looks? And yet, to come to me first! Dear Mark! But I have anticipated all your wishes. Your India will be here to meet you—I am expecting her every moment. Hark! there are her carriage-wheels!” said the lady, going to the window; then hurrying back, she exclaimed, “Peste! she has some one with her—that lively little Mrs. Vivian, I suppose. Listen, Mark! I will carry her off to a dressing-room, and leave you to meet India. She does not know that you are here.”
And Mrs. Sutherland went to the hall door, which she reached just as Mrs. Vivian, who was the first to alight, entered.
“Ah, how do you do, Mrs. Vivian? I am very glad to see you! Come, come into my room.”
“Oh, but stop—let us wait for India!”
“By no means, my dear. Mark will wait for her.”
“A-h-h-h! He has come!”
“Certainly,” said the lady, carrying off her captive.
India sauntered languidly up the door-stairs. Mark sprang forward to meet her. She started—paled—reeled—might have fallen, but he caught her to his bosom, murmuring deeply, earnestly, “India! my India!”
For a moment she had nearly swooned with surprise and joy, but in the next instant she recovered, and deeply blushing, withdrew herself from him, saying, “I did not know that you were here.”