"Elsie, I am going out for a little while," she says, with as much calmness and indifference as she can command. "I leave this letter in your keeping. Keep it faithful for one hour. If I return in one hour you may give it back into my hands. If, on the contrary, I fail to be here by that time, you must give it immediately to Sir Harry Clive."
The maid looks at her, a little frightened by the gravity of the charge and by Lady Vera's pale, strange face.
"It will soon be dusk, my lady. It is too late for you to be out alone. If you must go out, take someone with you," urges Elsie.
"Nonsense!" her mistress laughs, reassuringly. "I am not afraid to walk in my own grounds at this hour of the evening; I have done so often before. Do not tell anyone I am out unless the hour elapses before I return. Then you may raise the alarm."
"My lady, I am afraid to let you go like this," objects the maid. "It seems as if you anticipate danger yourself; I am sure it is wrong for you to go."
But Lady Vera at this shows the sterner side of her character, which is seldom turned to her adoring dependants.
"You will obey my orders, Elsie," she answers, haughtily.
"I beg your pardon, my lady," falters Elsie, bursting into tears.
"There, there, Elsie, I did not mean to hurt you," Lady Vera says, melted at once. "But you must not try to hinder me. Give me some light wrapper now to keep the dew off my dress."
Elsie brings a long, dark circular of thin cloth and delivers it to her mistress with many silent forebodings—forebodings destined to be only too sadly realized.