To this silence there arose an interruption. Mr. Blunt's English butler appeared, announcing a late guest: "Sir Francis Netherleigh." The man had a low, sonorous voice, and every syllable penetrated to Lady Adela's ear. The name struck on the chords of her memory. Sir Francis Netherleigh! Why, he had been dead many a year. Could another Sir Francis Netherleigh be in existence? What did it mean?--for it must be remembered that all such news had been kept and was still kept from her. Lady Adela gazed out from her obscure vantage-ground. Not for a minute or two did she see anything: the company was dense. Then, threading his way through the line made for him, advanced a man of noble form and face, the form and face of him she had once called husband. He was in evening-dress, and in mourning. He seemed to be making direct for the recess, and for Adela; and she shrank behind the draperies to conceal herself. For a moment all things seemed to be in a mist, inwardly and outwardly. What brought Mr. Grubb _there_--and who was the Sir Francis Netherleigh that had been announced, and where was he? Not to Adela had he been advancing, neither did he see her. Mrs. Blunt chanced to be standing before the recess; it was to her he was making his way. "How do you do, Sir Francis?" she warmly exclaimed, meeting his hand. "It is so good of you to come: my husband feared you would not be able to spare the time." "I thought so also when I spoke to him this afternoon," was the answer, given in the earnest pleasant tones Adela remembered so well. "My stay in Paris is but for a few hours this time. Where is Mr. Blunt?" "I saw him close by a minute ago. Ah, there he is. John," called Mrs. Blunt, "here is Sir Francis Netherleigh." They moved towards the fireplace; the crowd closed behind them, hiding them from sight, and Adela breathed again. So then, _he_ was Sir Francis Netherleigh! How had it all come about? Gathering her shawl around her, she escaped from the recess and glided through the room with bent head. In the outer room, opening to the corridor and the staircase, she came upon her sister. "Harriet, I must go," she feverishly uttered. "I can't stay here." "Oh, indeed!" said Lady Harriet. "Well--I don't know." "If there's no carriage waiting, I can have a coach. Or I can walk. It will do me no harm. I shall find my way through the streets." She ran down the stairs. Harriet felt obliged to follow her. "Will you call up Sir Sandy MacIvor's carriage," asked Lady Harriet of the servants standing below. "Adela, do wait an instant! One would think the house was on fire." "I must get away," was the eager, terrified interruption, and Adela bore onwards to the outer door. The carriage was called, and came up. In point of fact, Sir Sandy and his wife had privately agreed to keep it waiting, in case Adela should turn faint in the unusual scene and have to leave. In the porte cochère they encountered a lady who was only then arriving.