Ida felt like death itself. Her pulse sunk and fluttered; her vital forces seemed to cease their work.
Another two minutes went by, then the door opened and the parlour-maid came in.
“Mr. Cossey, if you please, sir.”
“Oh,” said the Squire. “Where is he?”
“In the vestibule, sir.”
“Very good. Tell him I will be there in a minute.”
The maid went.
“Now, Ida,” said her father, “I suppose that we had better get this business over.”
“Yes,” she answered, rising; “I am ready.”
And gathering up her energies, she passed out to meet her fate.