Bonnibel hushed her sobs by a great effort of will, and looked down at the faithful creature.
"Bring me my writing-desk, Lucy," she said, "and I will tell you what you can do for me."
Lucy complied in wondering silence.
Bonnibel took out a creamy white sheet, smooth as satin, and wrote a few lines upon it with a shaking hand. Then she dashed her pen several times through the elaborate monogram "B.C." at the top of the sheet.
"Lucy," she said, as she inclosed her note in an envelope and hastily addressed it, "do you remember a gentleman who used to visit at Sea View before my Uncle Francis died—a Mr. Dane?"
"Perfectly well, ma'am," Lucy responded, promptly. "He was an artist."
"Yes, he was an artist. Should you know him again, Lucy?"
"I think I should, ma'am. He was very handsome, with dark eyes and hair," said the girl, who was by no means behind her sex in her appreciation of manly beauty.
"He is down-stairs now, Lucy—he is one of our guests to-night," said Bonnibel, with a heavy sigh.
"Is it possible, ma'am?" exclaimed the girl, in surprise. "I thought—at least I heard—Miss Herbert's maid told me a long while ago that Mr. Dane was dead."