"Come in!" said Hannah, expecting to see Mrs. Jones or some other humble neighbor.
The door was pushed gently open, and a woman of exceeding beauty stood upon the threshold.
Her slender but elegant form was clothed in the deepest mourning; her pale, delicate face was shaded by the blackest ringlets; her large, dark eyes were fixed with the saddest interest upon the face of Hannah Worth.
Hannah arose in great surprise to meet her.
"You are Miss Worth, I suppose?" said the young stranger.
"Yes, miss; what is your will with me?"
"I am the Countess of Hurstmonceux. Will you let me rest here a little while?" she asked, with a sweet smile.
Hannah gazed at the speaker in the utmost astonishment, forgetting to answer her question, or offer a seat, or even to shut the door, through which the wind was blowing fiercely.
What! was this beautiful pale young creature the Countess of Hurstmonceux, the rival of Nora, the wife of Herman Brudenell, the "bad, artful woman" who had entrapped the young Oxonian into a discreditable marriage? Impossible!
While Hannah stood thus dumbfounded before the visitor, Reuben came forward with rude courtesy, closed the door, placed a chair before the fire, and invited the lady to be seated.