and that person—that lady—was his widow, John. It was all true that she said, and I treated her so badly, too."
"Yes," old John replied, meekly, "I thought it wor true; she didn't look like an himpostor, she didn't," and he shook his head gravely.
"You must find her, John, and bring her back. Go, you have your orders; you must find her. Arthur is dead, and he has sent his wife to me, and I must take care of her—that is all I can do for him now."
"Ah, that's the way with them secret marriages," soliloquized old John. "What in the world made Mr. Arthur act so, I wonder, and his governor so indulgent?"
"Yes we will find her, and she shall have the green room, not Arthur's—no, not Arthur's. Love her for his sake, he says; aye that I will," murmured his lordship, as he paced the room. "Too late, old man, too late, too late."
CHAPTER XXI.
declare it's a shame," cried Emily throwing a letter on the table. "I can't think what Everard means, it's positively unkind, I shall write and tell him so," she continued endeavoring in vain to repress the tears of vexation that would not be restrained. "I would not have believed it of him, indeed I would not—what will Harry think, I should like to know."
"What is the matter," asked Grace and Isabel at the same time.
"Read this and you will see," she replied—Grace read—