When his eye fell upon her he immediately produced from beneath his cloak a white rose, and in another minute they met.
"I have the honour," he said, "of speaking to Miss Johanna Oakley?"
"Yes, sir; and you are Mark Ingestrie's messenger?"
"I am; that is to say, I am he who comes to bring you news of Mark Ingestrie, although I grieve to say I am not the messenger that was expressly deputed by him so to do."
"Oh! sir, your looks are sad and serious; you seem as if you would announce that some misfortune had occurred. Tell me that it is not so; speak to me at once, or my heart will break!"
"Compose yourself, lady, I pray you."
"I cannot—dare not do so, unless you tell me he lives. Tell me that Mark Ingestrie lives, and then I shall be all patience: tell me that, and you shall not hear a murmur from me. Speak the word at once—at once! It is cruel, believe me, it is cruel to keep me in this suspense."
"This is one of the saddest errands I ever came upon," said the stranger, as he led Johanna to a seat. "Recollect, lady, what creatures of accident and chance we are—recollect how the slightest circumstances will affect us, in driving us to the confines of despair, and remember by how frail a tenure the best of us hold existence."
"No more—no more!" shrieked Johanna, as she clasped her hands—"I know all now, and am desolate."
She let her face drop upon her hands, and shook as with a convulsion of grief.