“Thank you, but I am perfectly able to go; I was dizzy for a moment, though it has passed now,” she returned, quietly, although a tumult of feelings was raging in her bosom. Giving her another searching glance, her ladyship passed on, and instead of going out at the door, as Brownie expected she would do, she proceeded toward the opposite side of the room, where a set of heavy satin damask curtains hung suspended from a richly gilded cornice. Brownie supposed that they concealed a window, but sweeping them aside, her guide conducted her through a lofty archway into a small vestibule, lighted from above through richly stained panels of glass to another archway also concealed by curtains. Passing through this she ushered her companion into the sunniest, pleasantest, airiest room in the world. It was a sort of parlor, library, and music-room combined, and contained every comfort and luxury which the human heart could suggest. Leading from this large room was a smaller one, in which Brownie caught sight of a narrow bed, simply draped in white. She afterward learned that the strange old woman, out of the abundant tenderness of her heart for her in her dangerous condition, had given up her own luxurious chamber to her, and slept upon this small couch in an anteroom. “Sit down,” said Lady Ruxley, indicating by a motion of her head a tempting chair standing near a marble table covered with richly bound books. Brownie obeyed, while her ladyship seated herself in another opposite. “There,” she said, when, by an ingenious contrivance, she had tipped the chair back so that she could look at her without twisting her neck; “now I’ll tell you what I want of you. Three weeks ago I sent away my companion because she neglected me. I suppose it was dull staying with such an old dry-bones as I am; and I’ve had no one since to read to me, or do anything for my amusement. Now, if you want something to do, won’t you please read me something from that ‘English Review?’” “With pleasure,” Brownie replied, her pale face brightening again with the thought of contributing thus to the poor lonely old woman’s comfort. It seemed almost like the old times with her own auntie, only it would have appeared more real if Lady Ruxley had not been so blunt and sharp, but a little more lovable, like Miss Mehetabel. She read an hour, in clear, distinct tones, which, although her ladyship was hard of hearing, she had no difficulty in catching every word. “That was reading worth listening to,” she said, heaving a sigh of appreciation. “Now put the book aside, and rest a while.” “I am not weary; let me read you something else,” she answered. “No, no; I’ll not listen to any more now; but if you do not mind, I’d like you to sit with me a while longer.” “Yes, certainly, if you wish.”