"Mayhap—but there we were out of help's way, and here, if we will—or rather if you will—there is succor at hand," said the undaunted Peggie—"and even while I speak of rescue, here comes my dear old Lowton with food for the starving and sheets and blankets for the weary. Come, coz, eat and sleep, and when you wake you will be ready for any emergency."
It was evening before the tired travelers rose, and, ransacking wardrobes and closets for the wherewithal to replace their soiled and dusty traveling attire, made themselves presentable for the inevitable visit of ceremony to their grandmother.
Quiet as they had been, the old lady had become aware of their arrival long before the faithful Lowton ventured, in lugubrious whispers, to communicate the news.
"There is no necessity, my good Lowton, for you to apologize for my granddaughters," Lady Drumloch had interrupted, almost before the first word was uttered. "No doubt I shall have to listen to half-a-dozen different stories before I get at the true cause of this visit, so you may as well spare yourself the trouble of inventing excuses for you know not what. Let me know when the travelers rise, and I will receive them and hear what they have to say for themselves."
The venerable countess lay in a huge four-poster bed, propped high with pillows scarcely whiter than her waxen face, upon which still lingered some of the beauty and all of the indomitable hauteur of the belle of half-a-century ago. Her scant and snowy locks were concealed under a cap of priceless lace and ruffles of the same fell over her small ivory-white hands. At the ceremonious announcement of the Viscountess Brooke and the Honorable Miss Moffat, she slightly moved her head on the pillow and turned her bright, dark eyes from one to the other.
"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, my lady Viscountess?" she inquired dryly.
"Partly, dear Grandmother, to our anxiety about your ladyship's health," said Prudence, sweeping so deep a curtsey that she seemed to be falling on her knees, "and partly because a whole long year in the wilds of Yorkshire hath made us homesick."
"A whole long year in your brother-in-law's house, gaming, dancing and—unless I am misinformed—play-acting and fox-hunting, has still left you with an appetite for the follies of the court. I doubt not," said Lady Drumloch. "Does your ladyship return to Yorkshire to-day? or to-morrow? I understand that you traveled without escort or baggage and by the public conveyance!"
"Do not be angry with us, dear Grandmother," pleaded Prue, her bright eyes filling with tears (the minx always had a supply at her command). "You do not want us to go back to-morrow, do you? Are you not a little tired of the excellent Lowton's conversation, and do you not weary for your little Prue to read you Mr. Pope's latest poem and Mr. Steele's new play? and make you die of laughing over her adventures with the Yorkshire squires?"
"And not only the squires," put in Peggie, who had been standing rather in the background, eagerly awaiting a chance to bring herself into notice. "Prue has had adventures with gallants more romantic than Yorkshire squires!"