With her aid she discarded all her travelling attire except the mask.
“May I untie it for you, madam?” said the girl.
The lady hesitated.
“N-no,” she said. “Not to-night, I think.”
The landlord pricked his ears up. Gazing at her, he observed that at last the blood had come to her pale cheeks. His own pulse quickened, too. And he smiled to note how her attempt at secrecy galled her. Even with a strip of black velvet across her eyes, her face was as easy to read as a printed page. She was a simple creature, whose instincts betrayed her.
Very soon the stricken man was conveyed to the chamber that had been set for his reception. It had little to recommend it, to be sure, yet it was the best and most spacious the “Sea Rover” could boast. It had not been used for years; and when a fire was kindled in the unwilling chimney, a colony of sheltering birds were grievously perturbed.
However, Cicely the serving-maid was a bustling soul with a warm and capacious heart, into which the poor guests had been already admitted. She had aired the sheets by the kitchen fire, dusted the apartment, and adjusted the bed and its furniture, all by the time the unhappy gentleman was got up the stairs.
The landlord came at the tail of the procession. He wore a sagacious gravity. He said:
“If I can give ye a finger of assistance, madam, I shall be more than happy.”
“My husband can only suffer me about him,” said the lady. “But you are very kind.”