"You are ill, madam," she exclaimed. "Go back to bed—the baby will do well enough with me."
"No, I am not ill," Virgie answered, as she took her little one, but she spoke in a strained, unnatural tone, adding, "I would like you to go to Mrs. Farnum's door and say that I desire a 'few moments' interview with her."
The woman went to do her bidding, but muttered with a troubled look:
"These English people seem to bring nothing but sorrow and mischief to the poor thing, in spite of their sweet ways and honeyed speeches; I wish they'd clear out—and whatever her husband can mean to leave her here alone so long and not a line to tell her why is more'n I can make out."
Mrs. Farnum obeyed Virgie's request with some misgivings; but she saw at once upon entering the room that the young wife believed the very worst, and she was half frightened at the result of her work.
Virgie arose as she entered, her baby clasped close in her arms, and handed her the letter which she had sent her to read.
"Here is your letter, Mrs. Farnum," she said, with a cold dignity that awed her visitor, "and you will find the note inclosed with it. Please be particular to have it returned to the one who sent it."
"But, my dear, will you not need it yourself?" interrupted the woman with assumed kindness.
Virgie's lips curled.
"It was an unpardonable insult to offer it to me," she said, with spirit. "I cannot understand how they dared to send it to me in any such way; indeed, I cannot understand a good many things that have come to me through you. If Sir William Heath has wilfully done me this irreparable injury he might at least have been man enough to strike the blow himself, rather than employ women to be his emissaries."