"O Raymond, Raymond! how could you say your name was Stephens?"
Raymond felt ashamed of himself as those pure, truthful eyes met his.
"My name is Stephen, isn't it, Salome? Don't make me out worse than I am. I am awfully sorry, and I shall go and see Uncle Loftus for your sake. O Sal, I hope you have not got cold, you look so horridly white."
Poor Salome struggled to keep calm; and was received by Stevens at the door with exclamations of angry surprise,—
"Going out in a storm like this, getting your death of cold! I have no sort of patience with you, that I haven't."
"Oh! don't, don't scold me, Stevens. It is all right now;" and running upstairs, she went into her mother's room, laid the case on the table, and said, "There is the necklet; it was not stolen—it was not. Put it back in the box; and, dear mother, will you please say no more till—"
The sentence was unfinished, and poor Salome fell forward on the bed where her mother was lying—fainting, for the first time in her life. Her mother rang the bell, and Stevens came hurrying in, raised her head, and took off her wet cloak, and her hat, which loosened all the thick masses of hair falling over her like a cloud.
"What is it? What can be the matter?" said Mrs. Wilton. "O Stevens, send for Dr. Wilton. Call Reg."
"She is faint with galloping off before breakfast, I don't know what for, I am sure. She is a slave to other people, and that is the truth. It was to please Master Raymond she went out in all the rain and storm, you may depend."
Salome soon recovered consciousness, and looking up at her mother's anxious face, which was bending over her, she said,—