"Your ladyship is far too unwell to travel," remarked the female attendant, assisting her to rise; "you'll never be able to reach Manchester."
"It matters not, Norris," replied Lady Trafford: "I would rather die on the road, than be exposed to another such scene as I have just encountered."
"Dear me!" sympathised Mrs. Norris. "I was afraid from the scream I heard, that something dreadful had happened, Sir Rowland has a terrible temper indeed—a shocking temper! I declare he frightens me out of my senses."
"Sir Rowland is my brother," resumed Lady Trafford coldly.
"Well that's no reason why he should treat your ladyship so shamefully, I'm sure. Ah! how I wish, poor dear Sir Cecil were alive! he'd keep him in order."
Lady Trafford sighed deeply.
"Your ladyship has never been well since you married Sir Cecil," rejoined Mrs. Norris. "For my part, I don't think you ever quite got over the accident you met with on the night of the Great Storm."
"Norris!" gasped Lady Trafford, trembling violently.
"Mercy on us! what have I said!" cried the attendant, greatly alarmed by the agitation of her mistress; "do sit down, your ladyship, while I run for the ratifia and rosa solis."
"It is past," rejoined Lady Trafford, recovering herself by a powerful effort; "but never allude to the circumstance again. Go and prepare for our departure."