“Dear me! what a dreadful place this must be, where such things are permitted,” said the young lady, shrugging her shoulders; “you don’t think there is any danger of their attacking us, mamma?”
“No, I think not,” said Lady Maude, smiling; “you need not alarm yourself, my dear; those desperate people are a long way off, and are probably arrested before this. You need not alarm yourself in the least.”
There was a tap at the door at this moment, and the next a servant entered to announce:
“Gentlemen down-stairs wishing to see Lady De Courcy.”
“Did they send up their names?” said the lady.
“No, my lady. One of them said he wanted to see you on most important business, but he did not send his name.”
“On important business? Who can it be?” said Lady Maude, somewhat surprised. “Very well, I will be down directly.”
Ten minutes after the drawing-room door opened, two gentlemen, both young, arose and returned her bow.
But why, after the first glance, does every trace of color fly from the face of Lady De Courcy? Why do her eyes dilate and dilate as they rest on the dark, handsome face of one of her visitors? Why does she reel as if struck a blow, and grasp a chair near for support. And why, standing there, and holding it tightly, does her eyes still remain riveted to his face, while her breath comes quick and hard?
Reader, she sees standing before her the living embodiment of her early girlhood—he whom she thinks buried far under the wild sea!