“Letters?” gasps Lady Maria.
“And probably more money than he likes to own,” continues Mr. Sampson, with a grave nod of the head. “He is very much disturbed about the book. We have both made cautious inquiries about it. We have——Gracious powers, is your ladyship ill?”
Here my Lady Maria gave three remarkably shrill screams, and tumbled off her chair.
“I will see the Prince. I have a right to see him. What's this?—Where am I?—What's the matter?” cries Madame Bernstein, waking up from her sleep. She had been dreaming of old days, no doubt. The old lady shook in all her limbs—her face was very much flushed. She stared about wildly a moment, and then tottered forward on her tortoiseshell cane. “What—what's the matter?” she asked again. “Have you killed her, sir?”
“Some sudden qualm must have come over her ladyship. Shall I cut her laces, madam? or send for a doctor?” cries the chaplain, with every look of innocence and alarm.
“What has passed between you, sir?” asked the old lady, fiercely.
“I give you my honour, madam, I have done I don't know what. I but mentioned that Mr. Warrington had lost a pocket-book containing letters, and my lady swooned, as you see.”
Madame Bernstein dashed water on her niece's face. A feeble moan told presently that the lady was coming to herself.
The Baroness looked sternly after Mr. Sampson, as she sent him away on his errand for the doctor. Her aunt's grim countenance was of little comfort to poor Maria when she saw it on waking up from her swoon.
“What has happened?” asked the younger lady, bewildered and gasping.