And the homeless wanderer through the wild winter-night, she who had called herself Anna Lyon, stood in the presence of the bride elect.
“Drusilla! Drusilla Sterling! Is it you? Is it really you! Oh, my poor child, how happy I am to see you!” exclaimed Miss Lyon, in the utmost surprise and delight, as she advanced with extended hands to welcome her unexpected guest.
Drusilla suffered her cold fingers to be clasped, and she raised her soft, appealing eyes to the young lady’s face; but she spoke no word in reply.
“Oh, my dear child, how sorrowful we have been for you! Why did you leave your home? Where have you been? What have you been doing? Where did you come from last? And how came you out on such an awful night? And oh, poor girl! in what a state you have come back? Don’t try to answer any of my questions yet! You must be warmed and fed first,” said Miss Lyon, who in her excitement had hurried question upon question to the exhausted girl, and seeing that she could not answer, repented her own thoughtless vehemence, and turning to her servants, said:
“Marcy, take off her cloak and hang it up, and sit her down in that arm-chair before the fire, and remove her wet shoes. And, Jacob, go down stairs and ask Mrs. Dill to send up a glass of hot port wine negus, and some warm, dry toast. And be quick about it!”
Jake hurried away to do his errand.
And the young wanderer permitted the old nurse to remove her cloak, and seat her in the chair before the fire, and take off her wet boots.
Marcy had not failed to see the fact that had also been apparent to the old woman at the toll-gate. And as she was passing out of the room with the wet cloak over her arm, and the wet shoes in her hand, she stopped and whispered to her young mistress:
“Lord pity her, poor thing, I’m right down sorry for her; but she is not fit to be in your presence, Miss Anna.”
For an instant the pure and high-born maiden recoiled with a look of pain and horror; but then quickly recovering herself, she murmured: