"Jovial, where is the lady?"
"Up in de drawing-room, honey, if she has not 'tired to her chamber."
"Show me up there, Jovial, I must see her for myself," Nora wailed, with her head fallen upon her chest.
"Now, sure as the world, honey, you done heard somefin 'bout de poor young marser? Is he come to an accident, honey?" inquired the man very uneasily.
"Who?" questioned Nora vaguely.
"The young marser, honey; Mr. Herman Brudenell, chile!"
"What of him?" cried Nora—a sharp new anxiety added to her woe.
"Why, law, honey, aint I just been a-telling of you? In one half an hour arter de forein lady tumbled in, young marse lef' de house an' haint been seen nor heard on since. I t'ought maybe you'd might a hearn what's become of him. It is mighty hard on her, poor young creatur, to be fairly forsok de very night she come."
"Ah!" cried Nora, in the sharp tones of pain—"take me to that lady at once! I must, must see her! I must hear from her own lips—the truth!"
"Come along then, chile! Sure as the worl' you has hearn somefin, dough you won't tell me; for I sees it in your face; you's as white as a sheet, an' all shakin' like a leaf an' ready to drop down dead! You won't let on to me; but mayhaps you may to her," said Jovial, as he led the way along the lighted halls to the drawing-room door, which, he opened, announcing: