It was nearly dark when she came to Griselda's room. She found the table covered with letters and papers, and the case with her mother's portrait and the old jewel-case standing on it.
"I thought you were never coming—never," Griselda said, in an injured voice. "Oh, dear Graves! do a kind thing for me this evening! Go to Crown Alley, and take this money for Norah's black dress. Oh, dear Graves! I must wear a black gown; he was my father. Look!" she said; "I have put on her little wedding-ring. There is a posy inside. I need those words now—'Patience and Hope.' Why won't you speak, Graves? It is as if you had not heard."
"I hear—I hear, my dear; but as to leaving her ladyship, I don't see how I can do it—not till she is off to sleep. If the doctor came, he might give her a draught to settle her."
"I do want you to go to Crown Alley, and to—to King Street, to take a letter to Mr. Travers. It is so odd; so unaccountable, that he never writes nor sends. I must know why. Perhaps he has heard that I am that poor man's daughter, and he feels he can't marry one so low-born. Yet it is not like him to cast me off, is it, Graves?"
"Well," said Graves, "I'll try what I can do; but, after all, I'd as lief you left the letter till to-morrow. Leave it till to-morrow."
"To-morrow! No; who can tell what to-morrow may bring? No; I cannot wait. Graves, I feel as if I should go mad, unless I hear soon if Mr. Travers is angry, and has cast me off."
"You may be sure he has not done that, my dear; you may be at rest on that score."
"How can I rest? Well, he must be told about my father—my father! I Do you think he has found it out, and that this keeps him away?"
"No; I don't," said Graves shortly.
"Hark! there's a ring! Run down—run down, and see who it is! Run, Graves!"