"On foot, sir. She is neatly, but plainly dressed; and yet her manners seem to indicate that she is a lady."
"Strange! who can she be?" murmured Greenwood, as he hastened to the drawing-room.
CHAPTER LXX.
THE IMAGE, THE PICTURE, AND THE STATUE.
UPON the sofa in Mr. Greenwood's elegantly-furnished drawing-room was seated the young lady who so anxiously sought an interview with the owner of that princely mansion.
Her face was very pale: a profound melancholy reigned upon her countenance, and was even discernible in her drooping attitude; her eyes expressed a sorrow bordering upon anguish; and yet, through that veil of dark foreboding, the acute observer might have seen a ray—a feeble ray of hope gleaming faintly, so faintly, that it appeared a flickering lamp burning at the end of a long and gloomy cavern.
Her elbow rested upon one end of the sofa, and her forehead was supported upon her hand, when Greenwood entered the room.
The doors of that luxurious dwelling moved so noiselessly upon their hinges, and the carpets spread upon the floors were so thick, that not a sound, either of door or footstep, announced to that pale and mournful girl the approach of the man whom she so deeply longed to see.
He was close by her ere she was aware of his presence.
With a start, she raised her head, and gazed steadfastly up into his countenance; but her tongue clave to the roof of her mouth, and refused utterance to the name which she would have spoken.
"Ellen!" ejaculated Greenwood, as his eyes met hers.—"what has brought you hither?"