"This is a dreadful disease," she said to herself--"a dreadful disease, indeed; so fierce in its nature, that few who approach the sick escape the contagion, and few who are once stricken ever cast off the malady. It is so easily conveyed too--I wonder if Emily will receive me. It is hardly right to carry the danger to her house,--with all her children too,--and I know she dreads it terribly. I may have it upon me at this moment;" and she asked herself, what if it were so? Her frame was weakened, her spirits depressed by all the grief and anxiety she had lately gone through; and care, and apprehension took possession of her entirely, as the carriage rolled slowly on, through the darkness of the night. The horses were tired, the coachman somewhat sullen at being disappointed of his expected place of repose, so that the journey was rendered longer in point of time than it needed to have been, by the dulness of both man and beast. Arabella grew impatient, anxious, heated, her head began to ache violently, her lips grew dry; and again she asked herself, "What, if I have caught the disease?"
At length, at the little village of St. Neot's, the coachman stopped at the door of a clean looking little inn, saying that he must water his horses, though the mansion towards which their steps were directed, was now within five miles. Arabella, descending from the vehicle, entered the house; and being known to the people of the place, she was received with all the reverence due to her station.
"Bless me, madam," said the landlady, as she led her to her chamber up stairs, "you do not look well!"
"I am fatigued," replied Arabella, "and have so violent a headache, that I think I shall stay here for the night. Pray call my servant, Adams, to me, and bid him bring the paper-case which lies upon the seat of the carriage."
As soon as the man appeared, Arabella told him, that she had determined to remain there the night, but that he must ride on with a note to Lady Emily, and bring her back an answer. She then, in a few brief lines, explained to her cousin that she had been in a house where she feared there was a case of plague, and that not feeling well, she had stopped at the inn at St. Neot's to see what would be the result. She begged her, moreover, to send her back by the messenger any letters that might be waiting for her, and then gave the note to the man, telling him to use all speed and return.
When he was gone, the landlady, with officious care, bustled about to provide for the comfort of her distinguished guest; but Arabella sat silent at the table, with her temples throbbing, and her heart faint. All she asked for was citron juice and water to quench her thirst; and at length the good hostess, beginning to feel alarmed, ran down to her husband, to tell him that the young lady looked very ill, and that she should not wonder if she had got the plague.
At the end of as short a space of time as it was possible to make the journey and return in, Arabella's servant came back, and, entering the room, gazed anxiously upon his fair mistress's countenance, while he said, "Here is this letter from the Lady Emily, madam, but I found a messenger waiting at the house, who would deliver his packet to none but yourself. He has come hither with me; but I fear you are not well enough to see him."
"Let him come up--let him come up," cried Arabella, eagerly, and before she had finished reading the few wild and apprehensive lines of her cousin, the stranger was in the room.
"I have charge to deliver this letter, madam, into your own hands," he said, "and to receive your answer."
Arabella took the packet and looked at the address. It was in the handwriting of William Seymour, and eagerly tearing it open, she read,