"Good-day, Mistress Jermyn," said the page very courteously. "We are come on a very sad errand—sad, that is, to those whom you will leave behind."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Dolly, very fiercely. She did not give me one look, after the first.
He held out the paper to her. She took it, with fingers that shook a little, and read it through at least twice.
"Is this an insult, sir; or a very poor pleasantry?" (Her face was gone pale again.)
"It is neither, mistress. It is a very sober fact."
"This is the King's hand?" she snapped.
"It is," said Mr. Chiffinch.
"Dolly," said I, "I told you to be ready by noon; but you would not believe me. I suppose your packing is not done?"
She paid me no more attention than if I had been a chair.
"Mr. Chiffinch," said she, "you tell me, upon your honour, that this is the King's hand, and that he means what is written here?"