"What is the matter now, Mrs. Kenrick?" asked the rector, suddenly recovering his presence of mind, and perceiving the immense error into which his excited feelings had betrayed him.
"Nothing, sir—nothing," answered the housekeeper, as she re-lighted her candle by means of a lamp which was standing on the hall-table; "only I thought that something very terrible had occurred to annoy you."
"Yes—yes—I have indeed been grievously annoyed," said Reginald; "and you must forgive my hasty conduct. I was wrong—very wrong. Do not think anything more of it, Mrs. Kenrick. But did you not observe that Lady Harborough had sent a message——"
"A note, sir. Here it is."
And as the housekeeper handed her master the perfumed billet, she cast a scrutinizing glance upon his countenance.
He was as pale as death—his lips quivered—and his eyes had a wild expression.
"I am afraid, sir, that something very dreadful has happened to you," she observed timidly. "Shall I send for the physician?"
"No—no, Mrs. Kenrick: I shall be quite well in the morning. I have received a violent shock—the sudden communication of ill news—the death of a dear friend——"
"Ah! sir, I was convinced that all was not right," observed the housekeeper. "If you would follow my advice you would take something to compose you—to make you sleep well——"
"An excellent thought, Mrs. Kenrick! If it be not too late, I wish you would send and procure me a little laudanum: I will take a few drops to ensure a sound slumber."