Mrs Clay was evidently worn out by the events of the day. Horatia glanced at her from time to time, but did not like to break the silence. Great was her relief, therefore, when a knock came at the drawing-room door.
Mrs Clay opened her eyes. 'Who can that be?' she demanded, clutching Horatia's arm in her nervousness.
'Only one of the servants, I expect,' replied Horatia, looking towards the door, in the hope that it would be some one with news of some sort.
'But they never knock at the drawing-room door,' objected Mrs Clay.
'Hadn't you better tell them to come in?' suggested Horatia, for Mrs Clay lay there, clutching her hand and talking in whispers, but not giving any answer to the person at the door.
'Oh no, my dear. I—we don't know who it is,' gasped the poor thing, who was evidently quite unnerved, and no wonder.
'Shall I go and see who it is? I dare say it is one of the servants, who did not like to come in and disturb you, because they know you are resting,' said Horatia.
'I think you'd better ring for Sykes,' objected Mrs Clay, still keeping her hold of Horatia.
'I'm sure it's only a servant, perhaps Sykes himself. I'll only open the door a little bit,' said Horatia, loosening her hand from Mrs Clay's and running to the door, which she opened, as she promised, only a little bit, and then exclaimed, 'Nanny! it's you, is it? What's the matter?' For it was against all etiquette for Mrs Nancy to come down to this part of the house. Moreover, the old nurse looked disturbed and flurried.
'Excuse my disturbing you, Miss Horatia, but I couldn't get any one to come, they're all that upset and put about; but I want to know what train you're going by. The packing's all done, and you can start as soon as you like; and the sooner the better for me,' she wound up viciously.