"Dead!" echoed his mother. "Who is dead?"
"Only that mad woman next you in the corner; there! let her alone, mother; don't, for Heaven's sake, bring her round again, whatever you do. I have had enough of her embraces to last me a precious long time."
The horses now slackened their speed, and were stopped by some of the Hall servants not far from the door.
Mr. Linchmore was at the steps of the Terrace, and helped to lift out Miss Tremlow, who was carried into the house still insensible; while Mrs. Strickland, who had been screaming incessantly for the last five minutes, now talked as excitedly about an old witch in a grey cloak; while Frances walked into the house scarcely deigning a word, good, bad, or indifferent to any one—her pale face strangely belying her apparent coolness—leaving her brother to relate the history of their misadventure.
CHAPTER VII.
AMY GOES FOR A WALK.
"Such is life then—changing ever,
Shadows flit we day by day;
Heedless of the fleeting seasons,
Pass we to our destinies."