I was indoors, and sitting in my bed-chamber, the chintz room, when the carriage returned. Emily, in high spirits, saw me as she ran upstairs, and came in. "All alone, Anne! We have had a charming drive. To-morrow, if you are good, you shall have one; we'll take the large carriage." She stood with her foot on a small low chair, tilting it about, and looking out at the servants, who were turning the horses to drive round to the stables at the back. "What a nice place this seems to be, Madame de Mellissie! But I think, if I were Lady Chandos, I should have the trees and shrubs thinned a little." "It is mamma's pleasure that they shall be thick. She only lives in retirement. Were my brother, Sir Thomas, to come home, he might effect a change. As long as he is away, mamma's will is paramount at Chandos." "How many brothers have you?" "Two. Sir Thomas and Harry." "Have you lost any?" "Any brothers? A little one: Greville. He died when he was six years old. Why do you ask?" "I was only wondering who Mrs. Chandos was. It has been crossing my mind that she is perhaps a daughter-in-law." Madame de Mellissie turned on me a haughty face of reproof. "It certainly is no affair of yours, Miss Hereford. Mrs. Chandos is Mrs. Chandos; she is no impostor." "I beg your pardon, madam," I meekly answered, feeling I had deserved it. What right had I, Anne Hereford, to be curious, and to show it? It effectually silenced me for the rest of the day. We dined together; herself, Lady Chandos, and I. Mrs. Chandos I saw no more of, and Mr. Chandos was dining at Marden, a town some few miles off. We were at breakfast the following morning, when the letters, as before, were brought in. Two or three for the servants, which Mr. Chandos returned to Hickens, one for Mr. Chandos, and one for Madame Alfred de Mellissie. "I thought he would be writing," Emily observed, in a tone of apathy, carelessly holding out her hand for the letter. "Though I know he hates it like poison, Frenchman like." "It is not your husband's hand, Emily," said Mr. Chandos. "No? Why—I declare it is old Madame de Mellissie's! What can be amiss?" she cried. "There! was ever anything like that?" she exclaimed, glancing down the letter. "Alfred's taken ill: his fancied gastric fever has turned into a real one. And I must go back without delay, the old mère writes." "Is he very ill?" inquired Lady Chandos. "So _she_ says—in danger. But she is timid and fanciful. I shall not go." "Will you allow me to see the letter, Emily?" asked Lady Chandos, in a grave tone. "See it and welcome; read it out for the public benefit, if you will, mamma. Look at Harry, staring at me with his blue eyes! He deems me, no doubt, the very model of a loving wife." "Emily! can you have read this letter?" asked Lady Chandos. "Yes, I've read it." "Then how can you hesitate? Your husband is in danger: he may not survive: he will not, they say, unless a change takes place. You must hasten away by the first train."